A Boy Called Crow
by Ostrich on a Rampage
Summary: A new boy, Crow, joins the Manhattan boys in their efforts to strike against Pulitzer and the World. But, when Crutchie discovers the boy is a traitor and working for Snyder, he must find a way to warn Jack and the other boys. There is only one problem: Crutchie's stuck in the Refuge and fighting for his own life.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I'm back with a new story. As if classes and work didn't keep me busy enough, I decided to write this alongside Riding Palominos. That will continue to be updated on Wednesdays and this one will be updated on Fridays. So, it's still only one chapter a week, just two different chapters. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!**

 **Oh, and I did use some direct lines from the actual musical. I do not own that (just in case you were under the impression I did). I don't make any money off of Newsies. In fact, Newsies has made a good amount of money off of me.**

* * *

 _Crows are members of the Corvidae family, which also includes ravens, magpies, and blue jays. Loud, rambunctious, and very intelligent, crows are most often associated with a long history of fear and loathing. Many people fear them simply because of their black feathers, which are often associated with death. Crows are predators and scavengers, which means that they will eat practically anything… even eggs and nestlings of other birds. Many view the appearance of crows as an omen of death because ravens and crows are scavengers and are generally associated with dead bodies, battlefields, and cemeteries, and they're thought to circle in large numbers above sites where animals or people are expected to soon die._

 _\- "A Murder of Crows" published by PBS_

The boys had all gathered at Jacobi's Deli for celebratory glasses of water after declaring that they would officially be striking the following day. As each boy sipped his water, Davey announced that they would need to spread the word of the strike. "Let the rest of the city's newsies know about the strike," he advised.

Jack nodded eagerly, turning to the boys. "You heard the man; let's go out and spread the word!"

Mush quickly spoke up, claiming his job. "I'll take Harlem."

"I got Midtown," Race called out.

Jojo claimed the Bronx at the same time as Buttons called the Bowery. Jack assigned Specs and Sniper to Queens and East Side, before asking, "And who wants Brooklyn?" The boys all grew suspiciously interested in their surroundings. Finch scrubbed at an invisible stain on the table, reluctantly looking up when Jack continued, "C'mon, Brooklyn, Spot Conlon's turf. Hey, Finch, you tellin' me you're scared of Brooklyn?"

Finch shook his head, glaring at Jack defensively. "I ain't scared of no turf. Just… y'know, Spot Conlon makes me a little jittery," he finished off sheepishly.

Jack scanned the rest of the boys at the tables, trying to find someone who would take up the task of informing Brooklyn of the strike. From the far corner, a quiet voice offered, "I'll go to Brooklyn if ya want."

All heads immediately swiveled to the new voice. The speaker was a small boy with shaggy black hair that shone in the artificial light of the deli, long and sleek. He had pale white skin that was exaggerated by the dark smudges of dirt that colored his cheeks and grubby hands. His eyes were dark and intelligent, flicking from newsie to newsie. The boy was thin and his clothes hung from his gangly limbs, giving him the appearance of a scarecrow that had taken stock of its unfortunate situation scaring off the scavenging birds and decided that enough was enough and got up off his post and trekked down to the city. "I sell over in Brooklyn. I don't mind tellin' them 'bout the strike," the boy elaborated.

"You're a Brooklyn boy?" Jack asked, narrowing his eyes. "What're you doing all the way over in Manhattan, then?"

The boy shrugged. "I sold all my papes and was just exploring. Turf's all the same, wherever you go and I weren't comin' to harm you all or nothing."

"Well, let's have ya name," Jack demanded.

"They call me Crow," the boy said, gesturing up at his hair. "Because of my hair, I think."

"Whaddya think about the strike, Crow?" Race asked suspiciously.

"I think it's a grand idea, standing up to the World and all. We'se got our rights, too, y'know, and I wouldn't mind rubbing some of that in Pulitzer's face. I'm sure Spot and da other boys would be on board, just as much as I is."

Jack grinned, motioning Crow to come sit by the Manhattan boys. Crow sat down beside Jack, edging Crutchie and Mush out of their seats to make room for the Brooklyn newsie. "Great. Tomorrow, when we'se supposed to get the papes, we'll show 'em what's really going on. Will you be there with us?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Crow promised excitedly. "We'll kick their rear for sure!" he exclaimed, much to the excitement of the other newsies, who began repeating Crow's words and pantomiming exactly how they'd kick Pulitzer and Hearst.

"That's what I said," Crutchie muttered, frowning.

Mush shrugged. "What does it matter? We'se all in this together."

"Hm," Crutchie murmured, watching Crow as he chattered with the Jack and Davey, deciding just what would be taking place the following morning. The boy seemed just as enamored about the strike as the other boys, but Crutchie couldn't shake a feeling that there was more to the black-haired boy than met the eye.

At that moment, Katherine Plumber, the reporter they had met earlier, entered the deli. She started questioning about how they planned to defeat a wealthy corporation such as the World and it wasn't long before Jacobi was shooing the boys outdoors in favor of actual customers. Once they were outside, Crow promised once more he'd be at the strike the following morning with just as many Brooklyn newsies as he could gather up. With a parting slap on the back from Jack, Crow took off, dashing down the streets to where the Brooklyn bridge was located.

Crutchie followed Jack as he walked with Katherine, lingering slightly behind the pair as they discussed Jack's artistic abilities. Crutchie found himself siding with Katherine; Jack did have real talent and he probably could make it as an illustrator. But, that would mean he would leave the newsies and as much as Crutchie wanted Jack to be successful and fulfil all of those crazy, wild dreams of his, he didn't know how much he wanted Jack to actually up and _leave_ them.

Jack turned to Crutchie after Katherine had taken her leave. "You excited?" he asked the younger boy, slinging his arm around Crutchie's shoulder as they made their way back to the Lodging House.

"For the strike?" Crutchie asked, before nodding. "Yeah, I is. We'se gonna show Pulitzer he can't just walk all over us like we'se nothing, for sure."

"And with all the other newsies joined togetha, there just ain't no way we can lose," Jack said, the idea of winning glinting in his brown eyes, a fervent light that spoke of the surety of success.

Crutchie lightly brought up. "What did you think of Crow?"

"The kid's a miracle. Spot might actually listen to one of his own boys than join a strike on even my word. It was mighty lucky he happened to be there in the deli."

"It was a mighty coincidence."

Jack shot a quick, questioning glance in Crutchie's direction. "You don't like him?"

Crutchie shrugged, unsure of what to make of the slight boy. "I don't know, Jack. I just… It feels like something's a little off 'bout him. Or something like that."

It was common knowledge among the Manhattan newsies that Crutchie was an excellent judge of character, one of the many attributes that made him so excellent at selling papes: he could read a man a mile away, as Race would proudly claim. Jack knew that if Crutchie was hesitant about Crow, then perhaps he should be more cautious about the young boy. But, this time, Jack had to disagree and Jack was pretty sure there was a reason why Crutchie distrusted Crow.

"Is this because he stole your seat when I motioned him over?" Jack asked, fighting back a grin. "Could it be because Crutchie's jealous?"

"I ain't jealous!" Crutchie protested, shaking his head vigorously. "I just—"

Jack cut him off. "You ain't got anything to be jealous of. You'se still my best friend," Jack promised, before reaching over and giving Crutchie a quick noogie. "We'se family and some kid from Brooklyn ain't gonna stop that."

Crutchie grinned, pulling his head away from Jack's offending knuckles. "Hey, hey! That ain't how you treat a brother!"

"What would you know?" Jack challenged, trying to catch Crutchie in a headlock.

"What would _you_ know?" Crutchie shot back, hopping out of Jack's reach. Much to everyone's constant surprise, his crutch didn't slow him down as much as bystanders expected and Crutchie was quick enough to dodge Jack's grabs.

"Come on, Crutch," Jack said, trying to look stern, but having difficulty hiding the smile that fought to shine. "You need to stop playing around so that we can get back to the Lodging House. You'se like a child."

Crutchie frowned petulantly. "Whatever," he muttered, attempting an offended look. Just as he stepped into reach of Jack, Jack sprung at him, successfully capturing him in a headlock and giving him a second noogie. "Hey!" Crutchie shouted, trying to pull his head away in vain.

Jack pulled the younger boy into a one-armed hug. "We'se gonna show them tomorrow. Just you wait and see." They'd be successful. Everything would work out the way it was supposed to and around this time tomorrow night, all the boys would be toasting to the win of the strike. Maybe they'd even splurge on seltzer.

* * *

The newsboys gathered by the gates, waiting for the first official strike to begin. Jack paced around the gates, Davey tracking the other boy. "Sit down and don't be so anxious," Davey suggested.

"Nah, he's got reason to be anxious," Race muttered, chewing on the end of a cigar. "If it's just the couple of us, we're gonna be beat back before you can say ol' George Washington."

"Well, is anyone else coming?" Davey asked, glancing between Jack and Race. Les stood near Davey, kicking and punching at the thin air, practicing his "battle moves" as he had informed the older boys with the utmost seriousness.

Jack shrugged, his hand brushing through his hair. "I don't know," he admitted, glancing down the street in the hopes of seeing a group of boys coming forward to

At that moment, Crow came up, sitting on the ground near Davey. "You talked to Spot Conlon?" Race asked the black haired boy.

Crow nodded. "I talked to him. Explained the strike and everything. He was impressed."

"So, he and his gang are with us?" Race asked.

"Well, that's where it gets a bit more complicated," Crow said softly. "Spot thinks it's a nice idea and all, but he's worried ya going to just turn tail if it gets hard."

Jack shook his head, determinedly. "We ain't gonna turn tail, not for nothing. Especially, since we'se got us and Harlem—"

Mush quickly interrupted. "Not so fast, boss. Harlem's wants to know what Brooklyn's doing."

Jack turned to Specs. "What about Queens?"

Specs shrugged awkwardly. "Queens'll be right here backing us up, as soon as they get the nod from Brooklyn."

Oscar approached the group of boys, examining the ragtag group. "Guess it was bum information we got about a strike happening today." He flexed, causing most of the other boys to roll their eyes. "Not that I'm complainin'; my skull-busting arm could use a day of rest."

"Are we doing the right thing?" Les brought up, glancing between his older brother and Jack.

"Sure we are," Davey reassured his brother.

Race rolled an invisible piece of lint between his fingers, examining the nonexistent speck. "Maybe we should just put this off for a couple of days." A couple of the other boys nodded, murmuring about the wisdom of Race's suggestion.

"No, we can't just put this off," Davey told the boys, but no one was paying attention to him. No one, except Crow. Crow glanced between Davey and the other boys, who were growing more restless as the strike seemed to be even more impossible without the backup they had been hoping for. Oscar was even glancing back, as if he were weighing his options to leave. Realizing that he wouldn't be the one to be able to get through to the other boys, Davey turned to Jack. "Say something," he hissed. "Tell them if we back off now, they'll never listen to us again."

"We can't back down now," Jack said, addressing the boys. "We gotta take a stand."

"What if we just don't show up to work?" Finch suggested. "That could send the message."

Jack shook his head. "You know it won't. They'd just replace us. We gotta stand our ground…" Jack stared at the boys, unsure of what to say next, so he handed the speech off to Davey. "You tell 'em, Davey."

Davey glanced at Jack in surprise. "I don't have anything to say," he hissed in Jack's direction, but Jack merely shrugged, motioning for him to say something. With a slight, awkward shrug, Davey began to softly sing, "Now is the time to seize the day." The words were soft and hesitant, but the message was clear: despite the odds the newsies were facing, they would not give up or turn away. They would overcome; they would win.

Crutchie hefted up his crutch, a strip of cloth with the word STRIKE emblazoned across it fluttered in the movement. "Look at this, Jack!"

"That's great," Race muttered, before belying his own words with, "That's just pitiful."

Crow watched the way Crutchie's face fell ever so slightly, before shifting back into a grin. It was a false grin and Crow wondered why none of the other boys seemed to notice.

Les quickly interjected, "Maybe Pulitzer will see it from his window."

Recognizing that the boys were beginning to need more encouragement, Davey started up again, this time louder and more confident, "Courage cannot erase our fear; courage is when we face our fear."

It wasn't long until both Jack and Crutchie had joined Davey, "Now is the time to seize the day. Stare down the odds and seize the day."

Specs and Race glanced at each other, before the rest of the newsies joined in, declaring that they would start the strike and wouldn't stop until their rights were won. Crow sat off to the side, observing the antics of the boys as they cheered and pounded each other on the back, their comradery thick and painful to watch. He did not join in the excited exclamations of "seize the day," content to wait out the strike.

When the scabs showed up, Mush wanted to soak them for trying to take the newsies' jobs and Crow knew that the strike was about to devolve into a chaos that would, most certainly, ruin the newsies' chance of dropping the prices. But, Davey muttered something to Jack and the older boy quickly began talking to the scabs, encouraging them to join the strike. Crow watched in growing wonder as the scabs threw their newspapers to the ground and joined in the cheers. That had been unexpected.

The Delanceys immediately tore into the crowd, pushing Romeo to the ground. "Hold it now, boys," Morris said, tauntingly. "We wouldn't want to make no mistakes or nothing."

Jack didn't respond back. Instead, he settled for punching Oscar in the nose. The square immediately devolved into chaos. Bulls came streaming in and began shoving and pushing around the young newsie boys. Crow swung at the nearest one, grinning slightly when the man stumbled backwards, hand pressed to his bleeding nose. Maybe a strike could be fun.

The cops were railing on all the boys, pushing and shoving and pulling out their clubs. Crutchie managed to trip one of the bulls, deftly sticking out his crutch as the muscled man ran past. The bull tumbled forward, before quickly turning on Crutchie. The man sprung back up, his hands immediately going for Crutchie's throat. "You'll die. I'll kill ya, kid," the man threatened, pulling a fist back. Before the bull could punch Crutchie, a blur of black had toppled the man backwards. Crow shoved the man to the ground, kicking him in a particularly painful place. "You okay?" Crow asked, glancing back at Crutchie.

"Yeah, fine," Crutchie said, his hand rubbing at his throat as he backed away from the man.

Crow nodded once, before disappearing back into the fray. Crutchie watched the small boy start railing on a different bull, shaking his head slightly. Maybe he had misjudged the kid. Before Crutchie could contemplate that any further, he noticed some of the bulls going after Les and Crutchie quickly stepped in, beating at a two of them with his crutch and deftly dodging the blows the bulls were throwing back at him.

The entire scuffle wasn't going nearly as well as Crutchie had figured it would, after all of Jack's positive encouragement regarding the strike. The bulls weren't going easy on the boys and Crutchie could see different bruises already forming on the jaws of some of the newsies. There was blood on Romeo's shirt and the young newsie face was pale, but determined. The boys weren't going to back down, but the bulls were not making it easy on them, at any rate.

Suddenly, a loud whistle shattered the fight and everyone seemed to stop mid-motion, turning to the new figure. Snyder stood at the edge of the crowd, clad in a dark gray suit with a matching bowler hat seated pretentiously on his head. His hands were planted at his sides, fisted against his hips, and his legs were spread apart in an authoritative stance. Romeo was nearest Snyder and he stepped closer to the older man, gesturing at the small army of bulls that were railing on the newsies. "It's about time you got here; they're slaughtering us!" Romeo got a rough cuff to his ear and the boy skipped sideways, his hand to the side of his head.

With that movement, everything sprung back into motion. The bulls started pushing back even harder and Crutchie got a strong fist in the jaw, the impact pushing him backwards. He pulled himself back forward, shoving the bull back into a metal trashcan with all his strength. Crutchie couldn't help grinning when the man stayed down, rubbing his head petulantly. He cast a quick glance around. Race and Romeo were back to back, keeping the bulls at bay. Jack was off to the side, fighting back two of the cops at the same time. Specs was using a trash can lid as a shield, before randomly swinging the metal disc towards some of the bulls that were approaching him. Davey was keeping one of the more persistent cops from his younger brother, his eye already blackened.

It seemed like the boys really had a chance at winning this. They were holding their ground and they weren't going to back down for nothing. Before Crutchie could celebrate the win, more bulls came around a corner, entering the square. Now the newsies were truly and hopelessly outnumbered. There were glances around and a silent mutual understanding was reached: the newsies began to retreat. Crutchie was making his way out of the square, avoiding the bulls, when he noticed Crow taking on both the Delancey brothers by himself. Morris swung once and his fist connected, Crow's head snapping to the side. "Hey!" Crutchie shouted, turning back to the smaller Brooklyn boy. Just because he didn't really like the kid didn't mean he was going to leave him to the mercy of the Delancey brothers. "Hey, stop!"

Oscar turned to Crutchie. "This don't bother you, crip."

Crow was still on the ground, Morris leering over him, but the black-haired boy managed to make eye contact with Crutchie. His eyes were wide and he started to shake his head, but was cut off when Morris kicked him in the ribs. "Hey!" Crutchie shouted again, starting forward.

"Look, if you aren't going to back off on your own accord, I'll just have to teach you a lesson myself," Oscar threatened. Crutchie wasn't going to back down and he actually managed to hit Oscar in the ribs with his crutch. But, Oscar moved faster than Crutchie had expected and the older boy ripped the wooden rod from Crutchie's hand, the momentum sending Crutchie sprawling onto the ground. Before Crutchie could scramble back up or grab his crutch which was only a foot or two away, Oscar had kicked him in his side. Crutchie immediately collapsed back in on himself, crutching his stinging ribs. "Was that necessary?" he grunted, the pain sparking unchecked sarcasm.

Oscar must have taken that as some strange form of a challenge and set on the crippled boy, kicks aimed at all visible parts of Crutchie's body. The boy tried to curl into a fetal position, arms wrapped around his head, but the stiff kicks still managed to cause damage. To his right, Crutchie risked a glance to see that Crow was at much the same mercy to Morris.

Just when Crutchie was pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to take much more, the raining blows stopped. Crutchie glanced up, noticing that Snyder had approached the four boys. He stopped and scooped up Crutchie's crutch, examining the rod of wood. His light, dangerous fingers ran along the edge of the crutch, flicking off an imaginary speck of dust. Snyder glanced at Crow, before motioning to Morris. "Take him to the Refuge."

"Hey, that ain't fair!" Crutchie shouted, uncurling from the ball he had rolled into. Crow was watching him, wide-eyed. In fact, Crutchie had managed to garner the attention of everyone left in the square.

"Oh, I'll show you unfair," Snyder threatened and before Crutchie could even figure out what the older man meant by that, the crutch had connected with Crutchie's right shoulder.

The impact elicited a sharp cry of pain from Crutchie. But that didn't stop Snyder. If anything, it encouraged the man to attack Crutchie with renewed fervor. Crutchie could not keep in the cries of pain, jerking with each impact. Crutchie had no doubt in his mind that Snyder meant to murder him with his own crutch and there was nothing he could do to stop the torment. But, maybe someone else could help. "Jack!" Crutchie called out, his voice riddled with desperation and fear. For, if Jack didn't show, Crutchie would die. "Jack!"

"Shut up, crip," Snyder growled, swinging the crutch against Crutchie's unprotected head.

For a long moment, everything was black. Crutchie was still, unfortunately, conscious, his entire body still tingling with pain that erupted fiery-hot with even the smallest of movements. As his vision returned, Crutchie noticed that Snyder had finally stopped. "Jack…" Crutchie whispered weakly, knowing that Jack wasn't going to come to his rescue. Not this time.

Snyder stood there, observing the crippled boy, before motioning to Oscar. "Take him to the Refuge too. I'm sure we can put him to use."

Crutchie didn't even try to fight off Oscar as the older boy grabbed his crippled leg, jerking the small fifteen-year-old out of the square. He winced in pain, shutting his eyes. He was being taken to the Refuge and there was nothing for him to do but try to weather the pain and, maybe, escape like Jack had all those years ago.

"Crutchie!" The shout caught Crutchie by surprise and his eyes whipped open, searching out the source of that familiar voice.

"Jack!" Crutchie shouted back, noticing his friend at the opposite end of the square. He immediately threw out his hands, trying to catch his fingertips against some of the jutting cobblestones and pull out of Oscar's grasp. But the Delancey brother was much stronger and there was nothing Crutchie could do to escape. "Jack, help!"

"Crutchie!" Jack shouted again and Crutchie noticed he took a step forward, before backing up again. The older boy mouthed something, but Crutchie couldn't make out what he was saying. Instead, he let his head fall down in defeat. He was being taken to the Refuge and even though he had heard the story of Jack's miraculous escape countless times, for some reason, Crutchie didn't think it would be that easy or simple for him.

* * *

 **So, I hope you've enjoyed this first chapter. Generally, I'm not a huge fan of a story about an OC, but here I am, writing one. What did you think about Crow? Love him? Hate him? Literally only reading this for Crutchie and couldn't care less about Crow? If you have any advice about writing Crow or whatnot, I'd love to hear it. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy Friday, everybody! Here's the next installment of A Boy Called Crow, so I hope y'all like it!**

* * *

Crutchie managed to elbow Oscar once in the stomach before he was tossed into a room at the Refuge. The Refuge. It was unlike anything Crutchie had ever imagined. Jack hadn't really told him much about what had occurred in the "correctional" building for bad boys. The older boy had remained silent, settling for shrugs or just shaking his head the few times Crutchie had asked. He'd offer Crutchie a tight-lipped smile, before relating the familiar story of how he'd escaped the Refuge. Knowing that even Jack wasn't willing to talk about what he had been through there, Crutchie had envisioned all sorts of horrific images with chains and whips and death and rats. He had laid awake at night wondering what awful experiences the boys were forced through in that stone-walled hell. But, he had always come to the conclusion that his imagination was running wild and nothing could be as demonic as the nightmares he had come up with. He was right.

But, he was also horribly wrong.

As Crutchie hit the floor, he took a moment to merely examine his surroundings, forgetting about the Delancey brothers, Crow, and even Snyder. The room seemed to be coated in dirt and dust; Crutchie choked against the nastiness that he accidentally breathed in, hacking loudly against the floor. He had been feeling a little under the weather—not sick. He refused to get sick—and the sudden influx of dust was not helping him. There was a grimy window across from the door and Crutchie stared at it, recognizing it to be one of the limited ways he could possibly escape to freedom. Through the brown streaks on the window, Crutchie could make out a light blue sky, a luxury he hadn't thought he would miss. Especially, in so short a time. There was a row of bunkbeds, each had a mattress shoved haphazardly onto the bedframe. The mattresses looked to be decades old, torn and stained with God knows what. A couple of boys were seated on the mattresses, staring at the newcomers. Some had wide eyes, curious and worried for what would befall the two boys that had been flung into the room. Others had been there long enough and that dreaded experience was reflected in their dull eyes and the way that they simply turned away, focused back on whatever they had been doing before being interrupted by the slamming of the door into the room.

Crow was thrown to the ground beside Crutchie and he turned to the crippled boy. "You okay?" he asked softly.

"Been better," Crutchie grunted out. His ribs still ached from where Oscar had battered him around, but it wasn't unbearable.

"You shouldn't be here," Crow whispered.

Crutchie shot him a strange look. "Neither should you. No one deserves the Refuge."

"No, you don't understand," Crow began, but fell silent when Snyder strode into view before the boys.

Snyder stared at Crutchie and Crow, the crutch still in his hands. "Well, what have we here… A pair of rebellious boys that need to be taught the rules of society. You know," Snyder began, pacing back and forth before the boys, the crutch swinging carelessly in one hand, "when I was younger I wanted to be a schoolteacher. Wanted to make an impact in the world by steering young boys, not much different than you two, in the right direction. My family didn't have the money to put me through school, but I discovered that there are different ways to teach boys. And, sometimes, I like to think that in this way I have a bigger impact on boys like you."

He grinned, the action malicious. "Pain is a much more effective teacher than any other form of persuasion. As, I'm sure you'll both come to learn, if you don't know it already."

Crow broke eye contact with the sadistic man, swallowing hard and staring at his hands. If Snyder noticed, he didn't make any mention of it. Instead, the man turned his attention to Crutchie. "So, boy," Snyder began, staring at the crutch that he still held, "have you learned your lesson yet? Or do you need a little refresher."

"I—I think I've learned my lesson," Crutchie said, hating how his voice shook. But, he had to give in. Jack was going to attempt some crazy rescue, Crutchie just knew it. And then he would be out of here. Which meant that he needed to stay in one piece and healthy enough to make his way out of the horrid Refuge. So, if Crutchie was required to admit defeat and bow down to Snyder's evil reign in order to escape in a day or two, then it was worth the blow to his stubborn pride.

Snyder grinned again, his mouth stretching back in an eerily lupine manner. "That was what I was hoping you'd say. In that case, what are the newsboys' plans for the infantile strike they have decided to start up?"

Crutchie gaped at the man, unable to get a single word out around the shock. "You—Let me get this right… You want me ta just betray them? Just at the snap of ya finger?" Crutchie laughed, the sound loud and wildly inappropriate in the current setting. "No. No, I won't. Not for nothing."

Although Crutchie had thought the grin Snyder wore stretched across his face was slightly terrifying, it was not until that grin shifted and morphed into pure distaste and hatred that Crutchie grew truly afraid. Snyder's grip on the crutch tightened, his knuckles turning skeletal-white. It was in that moment that Crutchie recognized that he was going to die. He was going to die for the strike. He could only wonder if his death would make the newspapers. When Jack had initially suggested the strike, Crutchie had excitedly shouted that the things they did would be tomorrow's news. He had made a choice to stand up against Snyder, to protect his family, and maybe his death would be in tomorrow's news, just like he had foretold. Not that this was what he had meant, but Crutchie could only hope that maybe his death could help the strike in ways his life could not; maybe, possibly, it would bring awareness to what the newsies were suffering. Softly, not even loud enough for Crow to hear him, Crutchie whispered to himself, "The world will know. The world will know." A small comfort in the face of imminent danger.

"I didn't think a boy like you would be so stupid," Snyder said, the words slow and honeyed. Crutchie was so distracted by his tone that he didn't even notice the crutch swinging towards the side of his head until it connected, the pain sharp and fiery. Crutchie could feel the blood trickle down from where the impact of the crutch had torn open his scalp, warm and itchy and uncomfortably wrong.

"That's rich coming from you," Crutchie muttered. The crutch bit into his right shoulder and Crutchie flinched back. That would leave a welt for sure. Crutchie fought back a wry grin. He could practically hear Jack shouting at him to not antagonize Snyder. Perhaps he shouldn't talk back to an angry man brandishing his crutch.

"I expect you to tell me about the strike," Snyder said, his voice colder now, more intense.

Crutchie shook his head, wincing as the movement pulled at the cut from the crutch. "I won't." Crutchie knew he was being stubborn. Probably too stubborn. Idiotically stubborn. But, he wouldn't betray Jack and the boys. Never. "I won't. You can't make me."

"Tell me who the leaders of the strike are. Who's involved?"

"Don't know," Crutchie responded, accidentally biting his tongue when Oscar Delancey kicked him in the bad leg. The blood in his mouth grounded him in his effort to not tell Snyder anything and when the older man motioned for Oscar and Morris to work him over, Crutchie focused on the iron taste under his tongue, trying desperately to ignore the fiery pain that left him gasping. And the Delancey brothers still weren't stopping.

Crutchie knew he would die and his heart felt too fast, too constricted. He didn't want to die, not in this squalid place. His self-sacrificial thoughts from minutes earlier seemed insane in the light of the pain; he did not want to die. Not here. Not now. Crutchie had imagined what death would be like, but he had always been surrounded by his friends in those hypothetical scenes. This time, however, Jack wasn't there, wouldn't make it in time. This time, he would die alone and in unbelievable pain. This was how it would end and that knowledge terrified Crutchie.

Snyder motioned for the Delancey brothers to stop, recognizing the dangers of going too far and the legal implications of having a dead boy in the Refuge. "Will you answer my questions now?" Snyder asked, the offer given with a sense of false kindness.

Crutchie lay there, breathing harshly for a long moment. He could see Crow watching him out of the side of his eye, but the black-haired boy paled in importance compared to Snyder and his sneer. "No," Crutchie whispered, his voice strangled against the pain that riddled his entire body.

"Huh." Snyder stared at Crutchie for a long enough time to make the boy feel even more uncomfortable and dangerously exposed, before turning to Crow. "I guess it's your turn. Will you be more compliant, my dear Crow?"

Crow glanced at Crutchie, his eyes wide and sad, before turning back to Snyder. "What do you want to know?" Crow asked, his voice small and defeated.

"No," Crutchie breathed. "No, don't—" he began, his voice hoarse from earlier cries of pain. Oscar cut him off with a swift kick to the ribs. Crutchie ignored the pain, "Crow, don't…"

"Don't listen to him," Snyder advised. "You know exactly what will happen if you don't help me, don't you, Crow?" With a sly grin, Snyder suggested, "Why don't you tell me who the leaders of this strike really are?"

Crow took a deep breath, avoiding Crutchie's eyes. "There's a boy named Davey who has been helping part of it. But, really, it's mostly just Jack Kelly."

Crutchie couldn't believe that this boy would just betray them like that. But, when Crow gave Snyder Jack's name, Crutchie couldn't take it anymore. "Don't you dare," he hissed, pulling himself up to his knees. The movement pulled at the various bruises and cuts that comprised Crutchie's battered body and his ribs protested fiercely at the motion, but Crutchie could not allow Crow to put his friends in danger like this. He couldn't let Crow betray Jack. "Don't you dare," Crutchie repeated, launching himself at Crow. He managed to land a couple punches on the boy's face and rip at that long, black hair, before Oscar yanked Crutchie away from Crow.

Crow stared at Crutchie, wiping blood from the split lip Crutchie had provided him with. He watched, motionless, as Crutchie began to fight against Oscar, trying to rip out of the older and larger boy's grip. It was useless, Crow could tell, but Crutchie kept fighting. Crow wasn't sure if the boy's actions were admirable or idiotic. There was a fine line between stupidity and heroism and didn't Crow know it…

Oscar, infuriated with Crutchie's futile attacks, threw the boy at the grimy window. Crutchie's head smashed painfully with the window, shattering the glass. Crow watched as glass clattered to the floor, a crystal rain, flashing small rainbows in the sunlight. Oscar jerked Crutchie, who had been leaning heavily against the window frame, dazed, down to the glass-dotted ground. Crutchie's head connected with the ground, the sickening thud echoing in the silence in the room. The crippled boy gasped, breathless, jerking forward somewhat, before slumping back into the shards of glass. His eyes rolled back, flashing sickly whites at Crow, and Crutchie knew no more.

Crow gaped at the still body, shocked at the violence Oscar had treated him with. It had happened so quickly. One second, Crutchie had been begging him to not betray the newsies, then he had been at Crow's throat, and now it barely looked like he was breathing. Crow swallowed thickly, ripping his attention from the unconscious boy. It wasn't his fault. It _wasn't_ his fault.

Snyder sneered at the motionless boy, gesturing halfheartedly to Oscar and Morris. "Get that boy out of the middle of the floor."

Oscar and Morris dragged Crutchie to a corner of the room, laughing cruelly as they deposited his body near a pile of rat droppings. Crow turned his attention back to Snyder, when the bottom of the crutch tapped at Crow's jaw. "Well, boy? We were getting somewhere interesting back there before that crip went berserk."

"Uh, yes," Crow said, trying to focus on what he needed to tell Snyder, but he couldn't get the desperation in Crutchie's voice or the way the boy had flung himself at Crow out of his mind. "Yes, the strike. Jack Kelly's the leader."

Snyder's smile froze and he fixed Crow with a calculating stare. "I know that. What else can you share with me about the newsboy's plans?"

Crow shook his head. "I—I don't know anything else yet. You guys dragged me back too quickly. They haven't made any more plans." When Snyder's grip tightened on the crutch, Crow frantically added, "I swear! I swear! They didn't have any plans beyond today! Jack and the boys thought it would work and they weren't planning any more." Crow panted, wincing in the expectation of Crutchie's crutch connecting with the side of his head.

"And what do you plan to do to get me the information I require?" Snyder asked, his sneer palpable in his words, even though Crow refused to make eye contact. Instead, Crow focused on the tiny shards of glass that covered the floor by the window, wondering just how many slivers of glass were embedded in Crutchie's body. As he gazed at the sunlight flickering in the glass, a wonderful idea came to Crow. The glass shone with hope and Crow knew he couldn't give up his only chance for a life beyond this.

"Let me escape," Crow whispered. "If I can get out, I can get you your information."

Snyder raised a solitary eyebrow at the suggestion. "You'll come back?" he queried, his voice deceivingly light. Behind the levity, Crow knew that there was a danger, a threat that if he ran, he would suffer pain beyond imagination.

"I will," Crow promised. But, he wouldn't. As soon as he got out of there, he would flee the city, move to a different state and never look back.

"Hm," Snyder said softly. "Okay, I'll allow you to escape, but," the man said, raising a finger in Crow's direction, "if you do not return within two days, I will have that boy killed." Snyder's finger flicked from Crow to where Crutchie was huddled, unconscious, in the corner of the room.

Oh. Oh, that was a problem. Crow glanced at Crutchie, before turning back to Snyder. "Deal," he said, because he wasn't going to give up the one chance he had for freedom. Snyder smiled one last time, the movement predatory and confident, before leaving the room, the Delancey brothers following close behind. As soon as they had left, Crow turned back to Crutchie. No, it wasn't a problem. Not really. It wasn't like he was friends with the kid.

Crow rubbed at his split lip, accidentally breaking the light scab. He drew his hand away from the wound, staring at the smear of blood on his hand. It was dark against his too pale skin and it took a surprising amount of effort to tear his eyes away from the red liquid.

A couple of the other boys in the Refuge were still watching Crow and he glanced at them. "You'se working for the Spider?" one of the boys asked, his blonde hair so grimy with dirt and dust that it looked more brown than blonde. The boy spat in Crow's direction. "Traitor."

"Traitor," another boy sneered from across the room.

"Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor." The taunts came from all the boys in the room, their cruel, unforgiving eyes burning holes into Crow's chest. He tried to shake the cruelty away, let it roll off like drops of water down the thick feathers of a bird, but the barbs stuck, digging at his conscience.

"Ya don't understand," Crow muttered softly. Because they didn't. It wasn't like he wanted to be working for Snyder and he was willing to do anything to escape the Spider's shadow. Crow glanced at Crutchie's still form in the corner of the room. He would do anything to escape.

Crow sat there silently, before standing up and crossing the room to where Crutchie was. He stood there, looking down at the boy's crumpled body. Crow half-turned to the other boys. "Help me put him in one of the beds," Crow said.

"No," one of the older boys said, crossing his arms against his chest. "I ain't helping some traitor."

"Don't help me, help him!" Crow said, gesturing at Crutchie.

The older boy rolled his eyes. "And I ain't helping some crip, neither."

Crow glared at the older boy, before turning to the unconscious boy at his feet. "Aren't we a pair," he remarked, "The Crip and the Crow. Sounds like some damn fairy tale. Except, this time, I get the happy ending." He situated his hands under Crutchie's shoulders and dragged the boy to an empty bunk at the back of the room. The crippled boy weighed much more than Crow expected and he was having difficulty pulling the dead weight along. It reminded Crow just how much better fed the newsies were than he was and jealousy spiked, mean and spiteful, in his chest. "What makes you so special that you gets food and friends?" Crow hissed at the unconscious boy. Crow knew he would have given just about anything to have been part of the newsies, to have his own small family, to have enough food, to have a future. And this kid—this crip, no less—got it all, while Crow had been left with nothing.

Once Crow had dragged Crutchie to the bed, he was met with a new problem. He had no idea how he would heft the boy onto the mattress. Crow stared at the mattress, glancing at Crutchie's lax face. There was no way. Crow wasn't strong enough.

A soft touch to his shoulder had Crow whipping around, ready to strike at whoever had touched him. It was some red head boy, his hair shaggy and hanging down, in front of his eyes. "Need a hand?" the boy asked, his voice rough.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," Crow said. The redhead helped lift Crutchie into the bed. Once Crutchie was laying down, Crow found himself staring at the boy's pale skin and the blood and dirt smudged against his cheeks. He brushed his hand along the boy's arm, not understanding what had possessed him to do so. A shard of glass pricked Crow's finger and he instantly drew his hand away. Crow stared at the boy's arms, noticing small slivers of glass embedded in the skin. He stared for a moment longer, reaching his hand forward to begin the monotonous task of picking all the shards out, but the redhead's voice stopped him short.

"You gonna leave him to die?" the redhead asked softly. When Crow didn't immediately answer—not knowing what the other boy expected him to say—the redhead continued, "I wouldn't blame you if you did. Everyone's fighting tooth and nail to get the hell outta here and you'se got your chance. It's not like you even know the kid, right?"

"Not really. Met him yesterday," Crow told the redhead, completely withdrawing his hand and stuffing both hands in his pockets.

The redhead nodded. "So, what're ya gonna do? You gonna run?"

"Yes," Crow said, his voice strong and certain. Much more sure of the action than the rest of him was. "Yes, I will."

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 **So, what do you think about Crow? Or Crutchie? Or Snyder (not that anyone ever wants to talk about him...)? Anyway, leave a review; I respond to each one individually!**


	3. Chapter 3

**So, I'm back with the next chapter of A Boy Called Crow! I hope you guys are enjoying this one so far. This is my first story that focuses on an OC as a main character, so feel free to tell me how I'm doing with that and if you have any constructive criticism or advice! Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this chapter, my ostriches.**

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Crow sat on the side of Crutchie's bed, picking out the shards of glass that had embedded themselves into the crippled boy's arms. He didn't have to do this. It didn't matter. The boy would probably be killed anyway. But, he still felt…bad. Crow had known that the Delancey brothers would go after him during the strike, had expected that double-pronged attack. But, Crutchie wasn't meant to get caught and if the boy hadn't been so damn heroic…

He flicked a piece of glass into the dark oblivion to the side of the bed. Darkness had fallen and the majority of the boys in the Refuge had drifted off to sleep. Crow couldn't shut his eyes, not here, not where he had managed to make enemies with everyone in one small room. There was a danger in sleeping. He had learned that and he did not need a repeat in that lesson. Besides, Crow needed to figure out a way to escape. Sure, Snyder had okayed it, but that didn't mean the Delancey brothers or even the hardened boys in the Refuge would allow him to leave injury free. The redhead would probably help him get out if he asked, but Crow wasn't one to enlist the help of anyone unless he absolutely needed to. No, he would manage to get out of the Refuge on his own and he would never turn back.

Which brought this all back to the pale boy sprawled out to his side. It had been countless hours since Crutchie had been violently knocked unconscious, but the boy had yet to awaken. Crow suspected that the crippled boy had slipped from oblivion to a heavy sleep and was merely sleeping off the pain and injuries he had acquired at the hands of the Delancey brothers and Snyder. Crow was glad the boy hadn't awoken; he didn't know how he would explain his plan to escape. Especially, since that particular plan ended with Crutchie dying at the hands of Snyder.

It was too dark to see if Crow had managed to get all the glass out of Crutchie's arm, but it sure felt as if he had. Crow looked up from the boy, scanning the room of sleeping boys. He shivered at a sudden breeze; with the window broken, the room was much colder than it had been before and there had already been three fistfights over who would be sleeping with the threadbare blankets. Both Crow and Crutchie had not been provided a blanket. The redhead had shot Crow a sympathetic glance, but had kept his hard-earned blanket to himself. Crow pulled his knees to his chest, trying to retain what warmth he had and wait out the dark night. Tomorrow, he would come up with a plan and he'd be out of there. But, until then…

"Psst!"

Crow's eyes jerked up and he scanned the room, trying to place who had hissed at him. None of the boys on the beds moved or shifted as Crow stared at the burrowed heads and arms flung over the edges of mattresses. Just as Crow was attributing the sound to his overactive imagination, he heard it again. "Psst!"

Hesitantly, Crow got off the bed, creeping toward the center of the room. He still wasn't entirely sure where the sound was coming from, but—"Psst!" Crow whipped his head to the side, staring out the window. He made eye contact with none other than Jack Kelly. "Jack?" Crow asked, quietly. To say he was surprised to see the older boy was an understatement. The older boy had a rope tied to a harness around his chest and he hung suspended in midair. It was a rescue. It was _Crutchie's_ rescue, Crow realized bitterly, jealously.

"Hey, Crow," Jack said, grinning. "What happened to the window?" he asked, gesturing at the large shards of glass that remained intact with the frame. Jack's grin slowly slipped as Crow began talking.

"It… It wasn't good. Snyder and the Delancey's…" Crow trailed off. He found that he didn't want to tell Jack what had happened to Crutchie. As much as he tried to hate the pair of best friends, he couldn't quite shake the shadow of sympathy that cloaked his words.

Jack caught on to Crow's silence and leaned his head through the window, scanning the room behind Crow. "Where's Crutchie?" When Crow didn't answer quickly enough, Jack repeated, more urgently, "Crow, where's Crutchie?"

Crow didn't know what to do beyond gesturing toward the back of the room, toward the deepest shadows. "He hasn't woken up. Not yet."

"Hasn't woken up since when?" Jack asked, his voice taut.

Crow could only shrug. He found himself avoiding Jack's eyes as he muttered, "Since the Delanceys and Snyder worked him over. But," Crow added quickly, "I think he's just sleeping now. I mean, they knocked him out good, but I think now he's just asleep."

"I gotta see him," Jack said, starting to pull himself through the window, but he jerked backwards as he accidentally pressed his right hand into the jagged glass. His palm was white, with a long, red line down the center. Crow watched as the red blossomed, blood spilling over and dripping from Jack's palm. Jack pressed his right hand into his shirt, stemming the blood. "I gotta see him," Jack repeated, his voice a hiss as he held the pressure against his injured palm.

"Look, Jack, I don't know," Crow began, but Jack's sharp glare cut him off. "Whaddya want me to do?" Crow asked. "You can't fit through the window, not without cutting yourself up and he ain't even awake. So, what's your plan, huh?" Crow didn't bother fighting back the sardonic tone that colored his words, jealous that Crutchie had a good enough friend to risk it all in order to rescue him. "You gonna just carry him down the street? 'Cuz that kid ain't the lightest thing to walk the Earth."

"Shut up," Jack hissed angrily. But, his tone was belied by the sickly pallor of his face. Crow could tell that Jack was running out of options and that the older boy was terrified. Hiding a smile, Crow realized he could use Jack's desperation for his own benefit. He ignored the small niggling at his conscience. In the city, you had to put yourself first, or you would die. Simple as that.

"Jack, here's what you gotta do," Crow said. "We ain't gonna be able to get Crutchie out of the Refuge, yeah? So, instead we close down the Refuge and then all them boys are set free, Crutchie included. To do that, we'se gonna have to win that strike. You'se gotta get back there and lead the boys in the strike. And, I'll come with you and help you plan it all and get Crutchie outta here. But, first things first, we'se gotta finish the strike." Crow fought back a triumphant smile. Once Jack helped him get out, he'd be free.

Jack shook his head, slowly. "It ain't worth it," Jack whispered, his voice almost too soft for Crow to hear him.

"What ain't worth it?"

"The strike, it ain't worth it," Jack elaborated. "Not if it's getting Crutchie hurt like this." Jack shook his head once more. "I'm out. I ain't striking no more."

Crow gaped at Jack. He hadn't expected the older boy to just up and quit. "Ya…Ya can't!"

"All this strike is doing is getting my friends hurt. Maybe my friends are worth more than a couple 'a lousy cents."

Thinking quickly, Crow shook his head. "Well, it's too late for that kinda thinking. The strike's already been started. Crutchie's here now," Crow said, gesturing in the direction of the bunks. He ignored the way that Jack flinched at that, continuing, "So, you just gotta man up and fight for the rights of the newsboys. You'se gone and done burned the bridge and now you'se just gonna have to deal with the consequences, no matter what they might be." No matter if I get your best friend killed to save my own skin… Crow shook his head, clearing that bothersome fact from his mind. It was Jack's fault. If he hadn't started the strike… Or it was Crutchie's fault. The crip shouldn't have tried to rescue Crow. The only thing that mattered was that it was. Not. Crow's. Fault.

Jack stared at Crow, his expression closed off and unreadable. "Do you think so?" he asked softly. "Do you really think so?"

The quiet question caught Crow off guard. He could deal with Jack's bravado and he could handle the way Jack would act over-protective of his crippled friend. But this question spoke of child-like trust; Jack was deciding to trust Crow and Crow very nearly blurted out his plan to flee and leave Crutchie for dead. He caught himself at the last second, biting his tongue against the sharp truths. "I do."

"Okay," Jack said, nodding. "Okay. Then we'll do it. We'll strike and then we'll get Crutchie outta here."

"But, you gotta help me get outta here. Then I can help you plan the strike," Crow reminded the older boy.

Jack fell silent, watching Crow and, for a moment, the younger boy feared that Jack had somehow managed to catch onto the fact that the boy was only using him for his own personal gain. "Yeah, I'll do that on one condition. You'se gotta promise that you'll do whatever it takes to make sure Crutchie gets out of here, yeah?"

"Y-yeah. Sure," Crow quickly agreed, hating how he had hesitated and how his voice had almost trembled. He needed to get a handle on himself; if Jack hadn't been too preoccupied with worry about his best friend, the older boy would have most definitely noted that. As he answered, he quickly crossed his fingers behind his back. "Crossies, quitsies," Crow muttered to himself.

"Thanks," Jack said, shaking his head slightly. "I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to Crutchie."

And, for a second, Crow doubted that his life was worth the life of the crippled boy. He glanced backwards to where Crutchie was still unconscious, remembering how the boy had fought tooth and nail to protect Jack. Crow knew that Jack wouldn't hesitate to do the same and he wondered, briefly, why he thought his life was worth destroying this brotherhood. "It's his fault," Crow muttered, turning back to Jack, who was examining the window.

"You think you'se gonna fit through this window?" Jack asked, scanning the younger boy.

"I'm small," Crow said, shrugging, not voicing his thoughts that he was small because he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper meal. Crow had to fight back the twisted thought that pointed out that the newsies—the newsies that always had something to eat, not matter how small a morsel it was—were getting what they deserved with Crutchie's death.

Jack nodded and helped drag Crow out the window. The motion pulled Crow's right leg across a jagged piece of glass and he bit back a cry at the sharp pain. Crow found himself desperately clutching to Jack's forearms as they swung out into the mid-air. "Now, Race," Jack hissed and the rope slowly began to be pulled up.

It took a frighteningly long time for them to be pulled up to the roof and Crow quickly discovered that he was, frankly, terrified of heights. Jack must have sensed that because he whispered, "It's okay, Crow. I'm not going to drop you or nothin'." But Crow knew he would, if Jack had even an inkling of the deal Crow had struck with Snyder.

As they reached the edge of the roof, Crow quickly scrambled over the side, pulling himself onto solid ground. "Hey, that ain't Crutchie," Race pointed out petulantly. "You got the wrong boy, Jack."

"Crutchie ain't doing too good right now," Jack said softly. He stood at the edge of the roof, looking down to where the third floor window was. The wind ruffled his hair as he stood, staring downward, and for a second, Crow feared that the older boy would jump off the roof. "After we win the strike, they'll hafta shut the Refuge down and Crutchie'll be freed."

"Uh-huh," Race said, rolling the rope Jack had untied himself from up. He didn't sound completely convinced. "And this was Crow's idea?" Race asked, jerking his head in Crow's direction.

Jack nodded, finally stepping from the edge. For some unexplainable reason, Crow was relieved by that motion. He shook his head, allowing Jack to help him to his feet. "Yeah, you'se got a problem with that?"

Race shook his head. "Nah, not me. Look, we gotta get goin' or the Delanceys might catch us." Race led the way to the fire escape on the other side of the building. As he reached the metal structure, he muttered, "The pair of ya aren't the lightest thing to haul up, by the way…"

"You calling me fat?" Jack challenged, shoving Race lightly.

"I'm just saying, next time, I'm not doin' the haulin'. Grab Mush or someone else. Or maybe you should try heavin' your fat butt up here and then you'd see."

Crow silently observed the way Jack teased Race, poking his biceps and murmuring something about weakness. It just wasn't fair that all these boys were able to have people that they could turn to, people that they could joke with, and he had been alone for his whole life. Crow followed after the older boys, ignoring the slight pull of his injured leg. He would have to examine the cut once he was free of Jack's prying eyes.

Jack must have noticed that Crow was lingering behind, because he waited for Crow to make his way down the fire escape. "Now that you're helpin' with the strike," Jack began, "you get to stay with us in the Manhattan Lodging House. That ain't gonna be a problem, yeah?" Jack asked.

Crow was sorely tempted to spout some lie about needing to go back with the Brooklyn newsies, but he resisted. Maybe the Manhattan boys would offer him some food and he'd be able to have one last meal before he was on the lonely New York streets again. "No. No problem," Crow said, straightening his leg out and trying to avoid the limp that was sure to show itself if he weren't careful.

By the time the trio of boys had reached the Manhattan Lodging House, Crow's right leg felt as if it were trying to murder him. Crow could only describe the pain that radiated from the cut as flames licking at his injured limb. All in all, it sucked and Crow wondered how much longer he could hide the hurt from Jack.

"You doing okay?" Jack asked, glancing at Crow's leg.

Crow barely resisted rolling his eyes. Well, that answered that question. "I'm fine. Just cut my leg up when I got outta the window."

"Why didn't ya tell me? We coulda bandaged you up back there? Is it still bleeding?"

Crow shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't looked at it."

"Idiot," Jack muttered. Crow's eyebrows shot up because that tone was almost…affectionate? Jack knelt down and pulled Crow's pant leg up, examining the injury. Blood had crusted around the jagged edges of the cut, but some stray liquid still pulsed out. The cut was deep and extended about five inches down Crow's shin. "You was walkin' on this the entire way here?"

"I mean…" Crow began, but he didn't know where to go beyond that.

"Come on, let's get you somewhere to sleep. Now you'se definitely not walkin' all the way to Brooklyn," Jack said, situating Crow's right arm around his shoulder and helping the boy keep his weight off his right leg.

Race watched as Jack helped Crow make their way into the building, frowning softly. Something about the image struck him as obscenely wrong, but he couldn't place his finger on it. With a slight shrug, Race pulled out a cigar, rolling it between his fingers, before replacing it in his pocket. It had been for his victory smoke once they got Crutchie out, but he figured he'd have to hold off for just a while longer.

Jack led Crow into the Lodging House, guiding him past all the various newsies. Some of the boys glanced, confused, at Jack and Crow. Mush finally spoke up. "Where's Crutchie?" he asked.

Crow resisted flinching, attributing the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach to the pain from his leg. Jack waved the boys over to Race, who was left to explain the plan to close down the Refuge through the strike. Most of the boys got extra excited at that prospect, discussing what they'd say to Snyder once they shut down that hell. A couple of the boys seemed more unsure and kept sneaking suspicious glances at Crow, no doubt wishing that Jack was leading their crippled friend through the Lodging House and not some stranger.

"Where are we going?" Crow asked as Jack led them past a room of bunk beds.

"I'm gonna show you my penthouse," Jack responded, smiling softly. "Everyone needs somewhere happy to sleep after spending time in the Refuge and that's what my penthouse does for the boys." Jack helped Crow out onto the rooftop, before leading him to one of two mattresses. "You can sleep here for the night," Jack offered.

Crow grinned, relieved to finally be able to lay his leg out. "Why are you so special to get two mattresses to yourself?" Crow teased.

"That one's Crutchie's," Jack said, gesturing to the one Crow was seated on.

Slowly, Crow glanced down at the mattress below him. He couldn't completely wash away the guilt that swept through his veins. This was a dead—well, not dead yet, but might as well be if Crow got his way—boy's mattress. This was the mattress of a boy Crow planned to kill. "He, uh, sleeps up here?" Crow asked, not even sure why those words were coming out of his mouth. He didn't want to know this. God, he didn't want to know anything about Crutchie.

But, it was too late now: Jack grinned, laying down on his mattress with his head pillowed on his arms. "Yeah, when the weather ain't too cold. Sometimes, the weather bothers his leg, so he can't make it up, but when it's warm enough, he's up here." Jack laughed softly, reminiscing. "I remember the first time I invited him up here. We was friends, you know, but not too good of friends. He was having a crappy day—can't remember what was going on—" Crow looked up at those words, detecting the lie in the words, but Jack continued as if he hadn't noticed the jerk of Crow's head, "—and I invited him up and we got to talkin' about just 'bout everything. I was tellin' him some story about when I first joined the newsies and it was gettin' real late, and I look over and he's just passed out on the ground. After that, I realized it was sorta nice havin' him around and we got him a mattress up here and we ain't ever been separated since."

Jack's face darkened and he shifted uncomfortably on his mattress. "And now I got that kid stuck in the Refuge. It just ain't right. But, soon as we get the Refuge closed down, we'se gonna bring him home, yeah, Crow?"

"Yeah," Crow responded, his voice hoarse.

"Well, I'm exhausted. See ya in the morning, Crow," Jack said, turning on his side, with his back to Crow.

Crow laid quietly on the mattress. He'd lay here for an hour or so, until Jack was completely asleep. Then he'd run. He'd get outta here and never look back.

And he'd never think of some happy, way too optimistic crip named Crutchie.

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 **So, yeah, feel free to leave a review. I'd love to hear what you think about Crow. Or anything, in general. Opinions on ostriches are always welcome.**


	4. Chapter 4

**And it is finally Friday! I have never needed a weekend more in my life... Anyway, here's the next chapter!**

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Waking up had never been the most pleasant of activities, in Crutchie's opinion. He hated being tugged from a cocoon of warmth and safety into the cold reality that New York City was. While asleep, Crutchie could live the life he had always dreamed of: there would be feasts for all the newsies, money in each pocket, sunny days and laughter. And there was never a crutch. There was no need: his leg was healed, had never been screwed up to begin with. Crutchie was always happy in his dreams, had always managed to shake off the worst that life had hurled at him with a shrug and a peaceful sleep.

But, this morning, waking up was even worse than usual.

Crutchie slowly came to awareness, his body tingling as aching muscles made themselves known. He resolutely kept his eyes shut, hoping that maybe he'd be able to slip back into sleep, but recognizing that he was past the point of drifting back.

As cognizance became stronger, Crutchie recognized that he was freezing. His skin felt clammy and he realized that he was shivering. The soft shaking only served as a cruel reminder that his body had been subjected to unforeseen torment the day before and all the bruises and cuts seemed to cry out in pain at once.

With a soft moan, Crutchie rolled over onto his side, hoping that Jack was up and then he'd just be able to tell the older boy that he didn't feel up to selling that day. But, Jack wasn't there. Crutchie found himself staring at a gray wall, trying to place where he had seen the wall before. He examined the peeling paint, wondering why it seemed so unfamiliar. It wasn't one of the walls in the Lodging House. At least, he was pretty sure it wasn't. Crutchie felt as if he'd lived there long enough that he should be able to recognize all the walls, but this one just wasn't bringing up any memories.

Crutchie stared at the wall until his vision began to swim and he found he wasn't focusing on anything in particular, just laying on his side and staring at what couldn't possibly be a wall from the Lodging House. His eyes were watering, either from staring at the wall for too long, or from the pain that suddenly burst into remembrance. He didn't remember having hurt this much in a long time. Crutchie felt as if someone had jumped on his chest a couple times and then proceeded to take a sledgehammer to his head. Then, if that weren't enough, he felt queasy and wasn't sure he'd be able to stand without vomiting. Of course, that could probably be attributed to the relentless pounding of his head.

"Get movin', crip." A cruel voice that was much too loud interrupted Crutchie's personal list of injuries, drawing Crutchie's attention from the blurry gray wall and towards the speaker. Some unrecognizable blonde kid glared at Crutchie.

"Whu-?" Crutchie began, the syllable a hoarse, unintelligent sound.

"I said, get movin', crip," the boy repeated, shoving Crutchie out of his bed.

Crutchie tried to catch himself, throwing his arms out to break his fall, but his limbs were leaden and his movements sluggish and Crutchie landed on the ground, his face breaking his fall. For a moment, Crutchie just lay there, biting back a groan as the pain in his body radiated, hot and uncomfortable. His cheek ached where it had borne the brunt of the impact. As Crutchie lay there, his eyes began to slip close and he began to drift off, until that cruel boy kicked him in the side.

"Oi, crip! We've gotta get outside. Snyder's havin' us clean the yard today. And don't think that because your leg is all twisted and disgusting you're able to get out of this. All of us kids works out there and that includes you, ya freak!" The blonde kid kicked Crutchie once more, before stalking away, grumbling something about good-for-nothing crippled boys.

With a low groan, Crutchie started to pull himself up to a sitting position, but his ribs protested to the movement and he quickly sunk back onto the grimy floor. A hand rested on Crutchie's shoulder and he flinched away, not trusting anyone in this squalid hell. The hand remained there, the pressure reassuring, not painful. Eventually, Crutchie half-turned, facing a short black boy who sat beside him. "You doin' okay?" the boy asked.

"Peachy," Crutchie ground out. His vision was swimming and the boy's face seemed to shift forward and backwards in a most confusing and abnormal manner. Crutchie pressed the heel of his hand between his eyes, hoping the pressure on his forehead would restore his sight to normality.

"You don't look peachy," the black kid muttered. "The name's Joey, by the way."

"Crutchie," Crutchie said, blinking away the blurriness as his vision slowly returned to normal. He then asked, "Is this the Refuge?" He thought he remembered the mean blonde boy from earlier saying something about Snyder and he didn't recognize any of the other boys, but Crutchie desperately wanted it to be anywhere but the Refuge.

Joey sat there, staring at Crutchie for a long moment, before he asked, "You sure you're doing okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Crutchie muttered, his voice soft with worry. "But, you gotta be straight with me, Joey. Is this the Refuge?"

"You don't remember bein' dragged here?" Joey asked. "Maybe that window did more damage than they thought…"

With that sentence, shards of memory darted across Crutchie's mind. He recalled being shoved backwards, his head slamming into the sharp window. He could feel the glass pierce the back of his head, scraping at tender skin and tangling into his blonde hair. There was a brief moment, and then he had been flung to the ground, pain morphing to a darkness that Crutchie couldn't escape. There were cruel words and boots and mind-numbing, pain-filled memories. Crutchie recalled Snyder's twisted face as his crutch came swinging down towards him, hurting instead of helping. He remembered his fingers desperately grasping at cobblestones to escape the Delancey brother's grip on his bad leg. He remembered Jack's voice, distant and hopeless. He could feel the pain that had crept up his leg, burning and stabbing as he had been dragged away from his friends, from his family. Crutchie recalled being flung into the room at the Refuge, recalled the intense fear the room had inspired. He remembered Snyder questioning him, his words soft, honeyed, but sharp. He could still feel the Delancey's foot against his ribs as he was kicked around because he wouldn't—couldn't—give up the newsies. He remembered the way his muscles had trembled at the latest offense and he hadn't had the strength to fight back. Crutchie recalled how he had been prepared to die for the strike.

And then he remembered a soft voice and the words, "But, really, it's mostly just Jack Kelly."

"Where's Crow," Crutchie breathed out, his voice desperate. "Joey, you gotta tell me where Crow is." As soon as Crutchie found the traitor, he would beat some sense into the kid. Or, maybe he wouldn't do it himself. Crutchie recognized that he wasn't feeling up to par at the moment and maybe he'd just have to ask Joey to fill in for him.

Joey glanced away from Crutchie, rubbing awkwardly at his left wrist. "You know, Crutchie, maybe we should just get you up and outta here. We've both gotta get out and work in the yard. You heard Dirk."

"Joey, where's Crow?" Crutchie asked, levering himself onto one elbow and ignoring the way his entire side stretched uncomfortably at the movement.

"He's not here anymore," Joey admitted. "He escaped last night. Went through that window you cracked open with that hard head of yours."

"He just climbed out the window?" Crutchie asked. "He didn't fall or die or nothin'?"

Joey shook his head. "Nah, he had help. Some kid, Jack, came and got him outta there."

"Oh." Crutchie felt as if someone had sucked all of the grimy air out of his lungs. Jack had come to get Crow out of the Refuge. He probably thought that Crow would be more help than Crutchie. Especially after that first strike. All Crutchie had done was manage to get himself captured and beaten like an old, ugly rug. Of course, Jack wouldn't want him out there. He probably thought that it was just easier to keep Crutchie in the Refuge, where he wouldn't have to worry about the boy slowing up the strike.

So, Jack had done the logical thing: he'd rescued the boy who could actually further the strike. Except, Crow wouldn't help. Crow was a traitor. And, even if Jack had betrayed him and left him to rot in the Refuge, Crutchie couldn't let Crow hurt Jack or any of the other Manhattan newsies. He wouldn't allow that. Crutchie realized he'd have to do… something. Okay, so his options were severely limited at the moment, but he could figure something out. He'd have to.

"But, that ain't even the worst part," Joey told Crutchie, his eyes serious. "That ain't even the worst of it."

Crutchie regarded the boy's wide, dark eyes, recognizing that whatever Joey was about to tell him, it was bad, it was heavy and that the black kid was not totally willing to part with the dreadful knowledge. "Tell me," Crutchie said, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Crow made a deal with Snyder. He made a rotten deal. Snyder was to allow him to escape, so long as he returned within two days with information about the newsboys' strike," Joey informed him.

"That no-good, rotten—" Crutchie began, infuriated that Crow would be so willing to betray the newsies over and over again, just to save his skin.

Joey cut him off, with a sad shake of his head. "It gets worse, Crutchie. Snyder wanted to make sure that Crow returned, so the other half of the deal is that if Crow doesn't return in the two days with the information Snyder wants, Snyder will kill you."

"W—what?" Crutchie muttered, his heart plummeting uncomfortably. Crow wouldn't—how could someone ever make a deal like that with Snyder? "He—He wouldn't… No one would—"

With a sad shake of his head, Joey muttered, "He did. I—No one thinks he's going to come back."

Crutchie felt as if a heavy weight had settled on his shoulders, pressing against his thin shoulder blades painfully. "You—You think I'm going to die?"

"If Snyder sticks to his word," Joey said, shrugging one of his shoulders. "I'm sorry. If it were up to me… It just ain't right."

"Yeah, well, that's the way it is," Crutchie said, his voice numb. He recalled the confliction of thoughts from the day earlier. He didn't want to die. Not in the slightest. He was fifteen and there were so many different parts of life that he still wanted to experience, still needed to experience. But, Crutchie couldn't deny that he was not the most useful member of the strike: he couldn't come up with the ingenious plans that Davey could suggest off the top of his head, he didn't have the natural charisma that Jack exuded, and he couldn't even fight back very effectively, being severely limited because of his crutch. So, maybe his death could mean more than his life had ever meant. It would be hard. God, it would probably be painful. But, maybe, just maybe if Crutchie were lucky, it would be fast and then, maybe there'd be something good and peaceful afterwards.

Joey's words brought Crutchie from his thoughts. "Yeah, well, it shouldn't be that way. Maybe there's a way to get you outta here?" Joey suggested.

"A hearse?" Crutchie joked darkly, but Joey frowned at him.

"Not funny. I'll figure something out, okay? That Crow kid may have left you for dead and maybe these other boys don't care, but I ain't gonna let you just die, yeah? Which means you aren't allowed to give up either."

Crutchie nodded. "Okay. We've got two days to come up with a plan."

Joey grinned cockily, a movement that reminded Crutchie painfully of Jack. Of Jack, who had always been there for Crutchie for nearly as long as the boy could remember. Of Jack, who had rescued Crow, not Crutchie. "No problem. I'll get ya out of here, Crutchie. Don't you worry about it."

"Hey, crip! You gonna get up off your lazy butt and get out here and help?" the irate blonde boy from earlier shouted. "We're out in the yard and your ugly, malformed leg ain't getting you out of work."

Crutchie struggled to his feet, hating how much he relied on Joey's assistance. The world swirled uncomfortably once Crutchie stood up and it was only Joey's hand on his shoulder that kept Crutchie from pitching, face first, into the ground. Crutchie blinked the vertigo away, swaying only slightly before the blackness that had crept across his vision faded away. "You good?" Joey asked, his hand still carefully gripping Crutchie's shoulder.

"Vertigo," Crutchie explained, stepping forward. Moving was strange; his limbs were not following the simple instructions his brain was relaying. Crutchie's steps were jerky and blackness continued to prick at the sides of his vision.

"You sure you're okay?" Joey asked again, observing Crutchie's stilted movements. The black boy stuck close to Crutchie, prepared to catch the crippled boy in case he were to lose his balance or pitch forward.

"I can do this," Crutchie said, his teeth gritted against the pain in his abdomen and the continual ache from his leg. Crutchie continued forward, ignoring the pain and making his way down the stairs and out to the yard where the other boys were working.

The yard, as it was called by the boys, was not the type of yard Crutchie had been hoping for. There was no greenery and very little open space. It was, in fact, the remains of an old, decrepit alleyway that had been gated off with tall, iron-wrought bars that stretched skyward, casting long, deep shadows that sliced across the cold, gray ground. The yard had no further purpose than to provide the boys of the Refuge a way to while their time away in pointless work. Each boy was given a stained rag and instructed to clean the iron gate until it gleamed. As the boys worked, the Delanceys would make the rounds, pounding on anyone who wasn't exerting an acceptable amount of effort.

Crutchie and Joey were given their respective rags and shoved, none too gently, in the direction of the gate. The two boys set to work, not even daring to converse with each other; each boy was silent and any noise would be swiftly punished by one of the over-eager Delancey brothers. The sun beat down on the backs of the boys and Crutchie found himself blinking sweat out of his eyes. The heat was oppressive, almost crippling, but none of the other boys seemed to be affected by the waves of heat that would be followed by chills and then heat and then chills again, wreaking havoc with Crutchie's body. His movements slowed, the rag rubbing up and down the iron bar sluggishly.

Oscar Delancey noticed this and jerked Crutchie backwards with the collar of his shirt. Crutchie stumbled in that direction, his vision swimming and his legs barely keeping him upright. Oscar was shouting something at Crutchie, but he couldn't understand what was being said, the words not connecting in any way whatsoever with his brain. Oscar, upon not receiving the answer he was expecting, shook Crutchie, his face twisted in an angry sneer. When Crutchie still didn't react—was still struggling to keep his feet beneath him and fight off the black dots that obscured different parts of the scene before him—Oscar shoved him back towards the other boys.

Crutchie retained his footing for only a few short moments, before he stumbled forward, his hands partially catching him and keeping him from slamming even more painfully into the ground. Crutchie could only revel in that small win for a second, before his stomach convulsed spastically and he found himself choking against vomit that splattered the stone ground of the yard. He couldn't hold any of the vomit in, could only lay pitifully on his side, coughing up watery nastiness. Once everything had exited his stomach in a most painful manner, Crutchie was left to dry heave, his vision blackening, before returning. He was shaking, he realized belatedly, feeling totally and utterly miserable.

Joey was at his side, his hand poised over Crutchie's shoulder, as if he were afraid human contact would further injure the crippled boy. "You're gonna be okay," Joey reassured Crutchie, who stared blankly up at him.

"J-Jack?" Crutchie stuttered.

"No, it's Joey," Joey nervously corrected the boy, but Crutchie didn't seem to be comprehending. "Hey!" Joey shouted at Oscar, who was curiously watching the scene unfold before him. "You'se gotta get him a doctor. He ain't doin' too good."

The commotion had drawn Snyder out of the building and into the yard, so Joey quickly shouted at the Spider, himself. "He needs a doctor! Something's wrong and he needs a doctor!"

Snyder stared at Crutchie's fallen form, taking in the fresh vomit by his side. "This is that damn newsie," he observed and Oscar nodded, even though Snyder hadn't phrased his sentence as a question. "Huh," Snyder muttered, ignoring the desperation in Joey's voice as he, once more, implored the older man to get a doctor. "Take him back upstairs," Snyder said, gesturing for Oscar and Morris to carry the semi-conscious boy back into the Refuge.

Joey stood up, watching the Delancey brothers carry off his new friend. He turned to Snyder. "Are you gonna get the doctor?" he asked. "Crutchie really needs—"

"Shut up," Snyder said, cutting the black boy off with a sharp wave of his hand. "I made a promise yesterday that, I will admit, I am not entirely willing to uphold. Actually killing a boy would look very bad for this institution—could you imagine the awful publicity that would follow? But, if the crip dies of his own accord, well," Snyder shrugged, "that is not a problem for me."

Snyder began to walk away, but Joey's parting shout cut him short. "And what if Crow comes back?"

With a soft smile, Snyder half-turned to face the other boy. "Do you really think that boy is ever going to show his face here ever again? Your friend in there is as good as dead."

* * *

 **So, per usual, reviews are always appreciated! Have a fantabulous Friday!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Happy Friday! Here's the next chapter of A Boy Called Crow. Read on, my ostriches, and I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Crow jolted awake. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He was supposed to have left in the middle of the night, just as soon as Jack had fallen asleep. He was supposed to have left this series of awful decisions and mistakes behind.

"Finally, you're up," Jack commented from where he was sitting on the roof, sketching something that Crow couldn't quite make out from where he lay.

"How long have you been awake?" Crow asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Almost an hour and you didn't even shift when I accidentally stubbed my toe on the railing and, sorta, uh cried out… How long has it been since you've gotten plenty of sleep?"

Crow ran his hand through his hair, pulling at where a couple of the strands had tangled together. "Uh, I don't know. Maybe it's been awhile."

"Spot doesn't take care of his boys over in Brooklyn?" Jack asked, shaking his head. "That kid's a tyrant. No wonder he's got everyone skittering away at his shadow."

"Yeah, well, it ain't a big deal," Crow muttered, shrugging. He'd have to maintain the appearance of being a Brooklyn newsboy just until he got the opportunity to get out of Manhattan. "And it's not like I was bound to get any sleep in the Refuge."

At that comment, Jack's face hardened and his right hand jerked, blemishing his sketch of red mesas and proud-backed stallions that Crow could make out now that he had propped himself up on his elbow. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, you ain't bound to get any sleep in that hellhole."

"You'se been there?" Crow asked. He hadn't thought the older boy would have understood his fear of that small, cramped room. There had been countless nightmares where Crow had found himself, curled into the fetal position, trying to keep from shaking-either from cold or from fear-because that would hurt him twofold: it would pull at his bruised skin and throbbing ribs and, even worse, it would remind the bigger boys of his presence. In the Refuge, it wasn't just the Delanceys you had to fear; the older boys loved to take out their resentment and aggression on the smaller kids who couldn't fight back.

And, Crow had left a crip there. Crips couldn't fight back and everyone knew that. So, not only had Crutchie suffered at Snyder's hands-and Crow could not recall the last time Snyder had been willing to get his polished kid gloves dirty-but, he would most certainly be subject to the endless torment of the older boys. The words of the blonde kid from earlier- _I ain't helping no crip, neither_ -came to mind and Crow had to quickly banish those pestering thoughts from his mind with the quick reminder that he had had to do it. Anyone else in his position would have done the exact same.

The older boy rubbed absent-mindedly at the scab on his right palm, his next words pulling Crow out of his personal reverie. "Yeah, I'se been there. I remember those days when you'd hafta-" Jack cut himself off, shaking his head and pulling his hands apart. He shot Crow a strained smile, before glancing down at his picture and fingering his pencils and charcoal uncomfortably. "Well, that ain't the here or the now, so it don't matter so much any more." Jack rubbed at his picture, smudging some of the lines together. "You okay? After-after everything?"

"I was only there for a day before you got me out," Crow pointed out.

Jack looked up, making eye contact with Crow, before turning back to unconsciously rubbing at the charcoal, blackening his fingers. "I can tell you was there-before. But, you don't have to talk 'bout it, not if you don't want to. I just want you to know that you can move past it, with the help of friends." Jack laughed bitterly. "Not completely. Or at least, I haven't completely yet. But-but, it does help."

"It don't matter. I can handle myself," Crow shifted uncomfortably. Now was the time for him to get out of there, before Jack started thinking he was a friend and especially before Jack started sharing more stories about that stupid crip-about Crutchie. "Anyway, I best get going back to Brooklyn," Crow said, unsure how to break the news that he was leaving in any less abrupt way.

Crow stood up, nearly crying out in pain as he was viciously reminded of the jagged cut along his right leg. "You okay?" Jack asked, quickly easing Crow back onto Crutchie's mattress. "Your leg's still bothering you?"

"It ain't so bad," Crow ground out between gritted teeth. This was bad. How was he supposed to flee the city if he couldn't even walk?

Jack snorted, pulling Crow's pant leg up. "For a newsie, you sure tell a crappy lie. How do you ever manage to sell a pape if everyone can tell when you're lying?"

"Threats, mostly," Crow choked out, hissing as Jack pressed against the crusted blood.

Smirking, Jack glanced up at Crow. "I'm sure that's real effective."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it."

Jack laughed softly. "Well, I don't think you'se gonna be out threatening people into buying your papes for a while. Even if we weren't striking at the moment, your leg doesn't look so good right now. This from that window? It looks even worse than last night."

"Yeah," Crow admitted, pulling his pant leg back down. "But, I'm okay. I'se really gotta get-"

"Hold on," Jack said, cutting Crow off. "Brooklyn ain't helpin' us right now, but you is. So, you get to stay here and help us plan the strike and shut down the Refuge. You promised," Jack reminded Crow, his voice serious. "I'se not trapping you here or nothing, but you'se gotta stay here 'til Crutchie is outta there, yeah?"

"Yeah," Crow agreed, planning on taking off later that night; this time he wouldn't fall asleep.

"Good, 'cuz I ain't leavin' that kid stuck in there any longer than I need to." Jack leaned back on his haunches, his smirk falling. "I always told him he'd never have to worry about the Refuge, not while I was around. And look at where he is now. If I had just-" Jack shook his head. "We should probably head down and get a plan cookin'. I'm sure Davey's got some ideas whirring 'round that big head of his."

Jack helped Crow to his feet, having to catch the younger boy when his leg almost gave out. As Crow continued to stand, however, the pain subsided and he was able to uphold his own weight. "I'm fine," he muttered, waving Jack away.

"Yeah, well, I'll still have Davey take a look at it. We'll see if his genius extends to leg injuries."

Crow followed Jack down the fire escape and into the Lodging House. A group of the Manhattan newsies were gathered around, each discussing the best tactics. "Next time we hit them fast and hard," Mush suggested. "Like a double punch. Bam! Bam!" Mush demonstrated exactly what he meant, punching the air in front of him.

"I don't know," Race muttered doubtfully. "Maybe we should continue just givin' in. We'se all got the marks to show just how unsuccessful we were and Crutchie's-"

"Gonna be outta the Refuge just as soon as we finish the strike," Jack broke in. "If we give in, he never gets out. Snyder ain't gonna let him free just because we roll over and show him our bellies. That ain't how Snyder works. _You_ know that."

Race grumbled something unintelligible, turning away from Jack. Crow scanned the faces of the other boys, trying to determine who was siding with Race. No one made eye contact with Crow, most of them focusing on Jack. The few boys who did briefly make eye contact with Crow quickly turned away; Crow tried to ignore the bitter looks the newsies tried to hide because everyone was a little upset that Jack had brought Crow home instead of Crutchie. He knew he was unwanted, but that didn't stop him from loathing the half-hidden looks that reminded him of the bitter fact.

"Hey, Davey!" Jack shouted out, calling the other boy over. Once Davey had reached the pair, Jack gestured to Crow. "His leg got cut up when we were escaping last night. D'you want to take a look at it?"

"I mean, I can, but I'm not an expert at things like that." With that precaution, Davey knelt down and gently tugged Crow's pant leg up to examine the injury. He hissed at the sight of the scabbed-over blood. "It doesn't look too good. Does it hurt?" he asked Crow.

"Not so much anymore. It was painful when I first got up, but now that I've been moving 'round, it ain't so bad," Crow said, pulling his leg out of Davey's gentle grasp.

"Well, maybe it's okay? I really don't have much experience with injuries," Davey admitted.

Jack shot Davey a triumphant look. "What's this, I'm hearing? Davey not an expert at something? That great brain of yours failin' you?"

"Oh, shut up, Jack. I didn't hear you offering any advice," Davey shot back and just like that, all focus shifted from Crow and his injury to the two newsies. Crow was thankful for that; he hated being the center of attention.

"I ain't the one renowned for my brain," Jack pointed out, grinning.

Crow stepped backwards, ignoring the small twinge of his leg. It was fine. If he just pretended it didn't hurt, it wouldn't hurt. Crow grinned slightly. That personal philosophy had gotten him through too many situations, growing up on the streets.

"So, what's the plan?" Jack asked, throwing an arm around Crow's shoulder before the younger boy could completely back away. "How are we gonna bring Pulitzer and Snyder to their knees?"

"Uh, let's see…" Crow began. He had no idea how to make the strike successful. So, he started saying the first thing that came to his mind that could possibly work to increase their support for the strike. "What we need to do is get everyone we can involved. This ain't just about the newsies, yeah? It's about the other kids that work and work and work, but don't got no rights just like us. We'se gotta bring them into this, too. That way, not only Pulitzer will have to recognize our rights, but even Governor Roosevelt will have to do something about it."

"Like shut down the Refuge," Jack said, his mouth tightening. "Like get all those kids outta there." Although Jack referred to all the poor boys that were currently trapped in the Refuge, all the newsies knew that he was really talking about their fallen brother. Crow's hand dropped to his injured leg and he rubbed at his thigh, uncomfortable with the respectful silence that followed Jack's comment as each boy thought of Crutchie stuck under Snyder's rule.

Davey nodded, the first one to break the silence. "I think it'll work." He clapped his hand on Crow's shoulder, tactfully ignoring the way Crow flinched at the sudden contact. "That's a great idea, Crow."

"Uh, thank you," Crow said.

"So, what we'se gotta do is actually go around and tell all those kids that we'se all gonna strike together," Jack said, his eyes gleaming with the prospect of winning.

"And how are we gonna do that?" Specs asked from the corner of the room.

"What we need is a…" Jack trailed off, trying to come up with the right word.

"A statement of purpose?" Crow suggested.

Davey grinned. "Yeah! Like a proclamation of some sorts."

Race rolled a cigar between his fingers. "That sounds great and all, but where are we gonna get a proclamation?"

"We'll hafta ask Katherine," Jack suggested. "She might even be able to find a way to print the proclamations."

The newsboys began to shove each other around, grinning as the plan to win the strike started to come together. After the first defeat in the square, a couple of the boys had been worried that they had tackled an insurmountable challenge. But, now, it seemed as if things were finally looking up and they could win.

Crow watched the antics, aching to move on and get as far away from the carefree Manhattan newsies. He shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the twinge in his leg from the change in weight. Jack grabbed Crow's shoulder and grinned wildly down at the younger boy. "We'se gonna do this, Crow. We'se gonna do this and it's all gonna be thanks to you!"

"I'm happy for you guys," Crow said, his voice soft.

"Thanks," Jack said, his tone earnest. "If it hadn't been for you, I don't know if we'd have been able to figure out what to do next." Jack turned away from Crow, but kept his hand on the black-haired boy's shoulder. "Just a couple more days and then we'll be able to get Crutchie outta there."

"Yeah…" Crow said softly. Except, by that time, Snyder would have killed the young crip. And Crow would, most definitely, be as far away as he could get; he didn't want to hang around and see Jack's reaction to discovering his closest friend's death.

Jack began to give the other boys jobs to do, instructing each on how their individual actions would benefit the strike. A couple boys were sent out to the various different newsies Lodging Houses to work on re-recruiting the other newsboys around New York. Davey volunteered to start brainstorming an outline for their new proclamation that Katherine could polish and transform into a stirring piece. Once everyone was given a position, Jack turned to Crow. "You okay with contacting Brooklyn? Just go tell Spot that we'se really serious this time and that we need his help."

Crow hesitated, before muttering, "I don't know, Jack." Crow knew that his bothersome guilt would fade if he would just tell Jack some of the truth. He needed to leave and Jack was presenting him with the perfect opportunity, but he would still feel that tinge of discomfort if someone didn't go tell Brooklyn. Which meant, he had to tell Jack he was backing down so that Jack could go invite Brooklyn to the strike. That way, even if they lost their golden child, they'd still win the strike, and maybe that would make it all moderately better.

"Don't know 'bout what?"

Shaking his head, Crow decided that he would just come clean. Partially, at least. He needed to get out of there and so, he'd just tell Jack that and be gone for good. "I'se been thinking and I don't know if I wanna be part of the strike anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Jack asked, incredulous. "You just came up with how we'se gonna win the strike," the older boy reminded Crow. "Why don't you want to see it through?"

"Look, Jack, I wish you the best. Send someone else to Brooklyn, but not me. I'm gettin' out of here."

"Y-you can't," Jack said, incredulity shifting to anger. "You promised you'd help me get Crutchie outta the Refuge. You promised."

"And who's to say that kid would even survive his stint in the Refuge?" Crow challenged, the words skirting dangerously to the truth that Crow refused to admit to Jack. If he planted the idea in Jack's mind, it would fester there and Jack wouldn't think to blame Crow for the crip's death. "I ain't risking my life again. I barely got outta that Refuge with your help and I ain't exactly lookin' forward to being dragged back there again."

Jack stared at Crow. "So, you, what? Used me to get out of the Refuge?" His words were thick with anger and Crow knew that the older boy was beginning to realize the awful mistake he had made in rescuing Crow in place of Crutchie.

This wasn't turning out how Crow had planned. Jack was supposed to be defeated, not angry. The flashing of Jack's eyes reminded Crow of different eyes and pain from a lifetime that he didn't want to think about. "No," Crow quickly lied, realizing that he should not have decided to be honest with Jack. "I helped you with the strike, didn't I? I just—" Crow paused, trying to figure out what he could say that would get Jack to trust him once more. He could run under the guise of going to get Brooklyn for the strike. Crow mentally berated himself for not using that golden opportunity from the start. "I just get scared sometimes," Crow continued lying, hoping that the words would work on Jack the way he wanted them to. "And I'm worried that it won't work because I feel like I shouldn't be the one planning the strike, not when they've got you and Davey. I'm sorry 'bout what I was saying earlier 'bout Crutchie and the Refuge and all of that. I just—I don't know what to say."

Jack observed the younger boy, searching the for the lie he was worried that Crow was feeding him. Eventually, he decided that the boy wasn't lying, merely stressed like he had been expressing. "Don't worry about it," Jack finally said, his words still suspicious.

"Look, I'll go convince Spot to join up for the strike."

"Good. I'll come with you," Jack decided. As much as he wanted to trust the black-haired boy, he still felt as if he needed to follow along. Just in case.

Crow smiled, the motion fake and forced. "Cool. Shall we get going?"

Jack nodded and the two boys started out of the Manhattan Lodging House. Crow wracked his brain for some way to distract Jack before they reached Brooklyn and Spot pointed out that Crow had never been part of the Brooklyn newsies. Crow knew that just as soon as Jack found out Crow had lied about being a newsie from Brooklyn, he'd start to doubt everything else Crow had told him. And Crow didn't think he'd be able to get away if Jack stopped trusting him, which, with his current luck, would end up with him back under the evil rule of Snyder. He'd just have to wait for the perfect opportunity and then he'd be able to get away.

That opportunity did not take long to arrive, though it wasn't the perfect escape Crow had been hoping for. "Oi! If that ain't our old pal, Crow," a deep voice called out.

Crow slowly turned in the direction of the voice, catching sight of a boy he hadn't thought he'd see for the rest of his life. Harry was a big boy—a good two heads taller than Crow—and was beefy. He had shaggy brown hair that was matted with dirt, sweat, and blood. When Crow finally looked at the older boy, Harry cracked a grin that exposed yellowed teeth. "Oi, Crow. Did ya miss the fellows and I?" Harry's lackeys laughed at the comment. A pair of thick-set Slovenian twins cracked their knuckles in preparation of the scuffle that was sure to ensue.

"What's goin' on?" Jack whispered to Crow.

"Don't worry 'bout it. I'll deal with these guys," Crow whispered back, before raising his voice. "Move along, Harry. I ain't runnin' with your crowd anymore."

"Maybe we want you back," Harry suggested, sentence laced with an unspoken threat.

"Maybe I don't want to come back," Crow pointed out. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go."

Harry stepped forward, crossing his arms across his chest. "See, the problem is, that weren't really an offer. It was more like a command."

Jack glanced at Crow, still completely lost in the situation. Crow half-turned to Jack, to give a quick explanation of the situation, but Harry had gripped the collar of his shirt before he could even form a sentence. Crow had only a brief moment to comprehend exactly what was going to happen before the fist collided, quite solidly, with the side of his head.

Crow tried to fight back and managed to bite Harry's gargantuan hand, but three against one wasn't really fair odds. In the blur of flesh and pain, Crow lost track of Jack, wasn't sure where the older boy disappeared to. _Probably ran to save his skin_ , Crow thought, scrambling against Harry's grip on his shirt. Not that Crow blamed Jack. It was what he would have done.

Harry flung Crow to the ground and the Slovenian twins began to kick at Crow's unprotected ribs. He tried to curl up into the fetal position and shield himself, but with two attackers, it was very difficult to protect against any of the painful blows. Crow's vision was beginning to swim and he could taste blood pooling into his mouth. Crow didn't even see Harry's boot swinging toward his head; he only felt the surge of pain that enveloped him into a welcoming darkness.

* * *

 **So, this is looking to be about seven or eight chapters, so just a couple more to go! Please review! I love hearing how people feel about Crow or events or just anything.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello, everyone! I'm back with a new chapter! And, holy crap, this means I've posted something everyday for the past three days. I guess I never do stop writing. The Rampage part of my name is more truthful than I first thought... But, here's the next chapter! Hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

Crow blinked blearily, scraping gently at the crusted eye boogers that glued sections of his eye lid closed. His whole body ached, but the pain was distant, as if he had been given the time to heal. And, he was laying on something soft, with a blanket wrapped around him. He was warm, he was comfortable, and all Crow wanted to do was slip back into that golden warmth of sleep.

Instead, Crow stretched and sat up. He was on the roof of the Lodging House, meaning that somehow Jack had managed to get him away from Harry and the boys. It meant that, not only was he safe, but Jack had cared enough to risk his own bodily harm to get Crow away from those boys.

He half turned over, noticing that Jack was passed out on the mattress beside him. The dark smudge around his right eye was not lost to Crow, either, and Crow leaned over, gently nudging the older boy. "Hey," he said, softly. "I'm feelin' better."

Jack yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "Eh, Crutchie?" he asked, still half-asleep.

Crow flinched, his body jolting in memory at the name. What day was it? Crow suddenly feared that he was too late, that he had killed someone just because he had been so focused on saving his own damn skin. Because, suddenly, he didn't want the other boys to lose Crutchie. Suddenly, Crow understood that he would never, could never have what all the newsies had. But, that didn't mean he had to ruin it for the others. After all that Jack had done for him, Crow owed him to get Crutchie out of the Refuge before it was too late. "What's today?" Crow hissed, his voice anxious.

"Hell as if I know," Jack muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I barely know my own name at this time of day…"

"This is an emergency," Crow hissed, shoving the blankets off and standing up. "I need to know how long it's been since I got out of the Refuge."

Jack sat up, yawning once more. "Well, let's see. It would have been about…" he trailed off, thinking backwards. "This is the third day of your freedom," Jack said, with a wide grin. "You were unconscious for a day and a half after those boys worked you over. Which, by the way, what was that all about?"

Crow felt as if all the air within him had been viciously knocked out of his lungs and he barely even registered Jack's question. "No…" he whispered, his chest constricting. "No, that can't be true. It—no. No, I—I need to—"

"Woah, what's wrong?" Jack asked, sitting Crow back down. "You need to calm down before you collapse. You just got better and we can't have you getting hurt again before the big strike. That's why I got you out of the Refuge anyway."

It was as if the older boy had poured salt into his open wound. "Oh, god," Crow whispered, and he felt as if he were going to vomit. He realized he was sitting on Crutchie's mattress and bile actually started to come up, spurred on by violent guilt. It took a few moments of desperate gulping to keep whatever half-digested food still remained in his stomach from resurfacing.

"You okay, kid?" Jack asked. "Maybe you ain't feelin' as better as you first thought."

"Jack," Crow whispered, his voice half-strangled with guilt. "I gotta tell you something."

"Okay, shoot," Jack said, swinging his arm around Crow's shoulder. The contact burned Crow and he barely resisted flinching out of the older boy's arm.

"It ain't good. I—I messed up real bad. Real bad, Jack."

Jack shot Crow a soft smile. "So, we'll fix it. You'se part of the newsies family now. We'se gonna help you get through whatever it is."

"No… No, this one ain't fixable." Crow couldn't stand the contact any longer. He shoved away from Jack, standing up and beginning to pace. "I… I ain't who you think I am. I'm not a good person."

Jack stared quietly at Crow. He wasn't smiling anymore, but he wasn't angry. Yet. He would be though, just as soon as Crow told him what had happened to Crutchie. What Crow had done to Crutchie. "What do you mean?" he asked softly.

"You know how I said I was a Brooklyn newsboy, back when we first met? Well, I'm not. I ain't never sold a pape in my life. But… But, I needed to tell ya that so you'd all trust me." Crow fell silent, scuffing his shoe against the railing. "And I needed you to trust me because I had to gather information for the strike. For Snyder."

"What?" Jack asked softly, his face shifting to distaste. "Why would you ever-"

"Look, that ain't any of your business. I made a couple mistakes and I got stuck doin' his will. So, I was supposed to follow you'se guys around gather information and deliver it back to him. That's one of the reasons I was captured at that first strike; I was supposed to be captured. But…" Crow stopped, his stomach twisting painfully again. "But, Crutchie wasn't supposed to be captured.

"When the Delanceys brought us to the Refuge, Snyder started questioning Crutchie about the strike and he wouldn't tell them nothing. Nothing. So, they beat him 'round a bit. But, he wasn't too bad. And, and then Snyder turned to me and I had to give him the information. I—I didn't know much, but I gave him Davey's name...and yours."

Crow fell silent, closing his eyes. He could still feel the ghost of Crutchie's fingers ripping at his hair, scratching at his face, all in desperation. "Crutchie attacked me. Wouldn't let me give up the newsies. That's when Oscar really messed him up. He—Oscar smashed Crutchie's head into the window and then shoved him to the ground. He didn't move, but he was still alive. Just...just unconscious."

"So," Jack said, interrupting Crow's story. The older boy had begun to self-consciously rub at his right palm, scraping at the dark scab. He watched the dried blood flake away from his hand, dotting his pale skin with dead life-blood. "You gave a couple names away. Nothing real bad has happened. Crutchie will get better." Jack grinned wryly, "He's got a thick head and it'll take more than a bump to keep him down."

"That ain't the worst," Crow whispered, his conscience weighing heavily. "After...after Crutchie was unconscious, I struck a deal with Snyder. He would let me escape the Refuge to gather information about the strike on one condition. If...if I didn't return, he'd kill Crutchie."

Jack stared at Crow, his stomach plummeting uncomfortably. "Tell me you didn't make the deal," Jack pleaded, his voice strangled. "Please tell me you wouldn't have done something so cruel, so heartless as—"

"I made the deal. I made it. I know I shouldn't have, but I wasn't friends with Crutchie, with any of you, and I didn't care. I was gonna escape and run as soon as I got the chance. So, when you showed up that night, I convinced you to help me outta there so I could run. But, after, after everything, I realized that I didn't want to run. Or, well, I didn't want Crutchie to die. He may have everything I don't have, but that shouldn't be a death sentence. I—I realized this and—"

"So, what are we waiting for? I'm sure Davey and Race would help us break Crutchie outta there. Tonight, we can—"

Crow hated that he had to say this, wished he could just be struck into oblivion. Death was preferable to breaking this news to Jack. "Jack, it's—I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.."

"What do you mean?"

"The deal was that I had to return in two days or—Jack, it's too late. I messed up real bad. It's been three days."

Jack was silent for a long moment, his face impassive. Then, he began to speak, his voice low and controlled. "You made a deal with my best friend—my brother's life and you had no intention to uphold your part. You knew that Crutchie would end up—and you still agreed to it?"

"If I could go back and change it, I would do it in a heartbeat," Crow whispered, defeated.

"You murdered my brother," Jack hissed, his voice strangled. "Get outta my sight before I kill you," he threatened. "And don't you dare come near me or da other newsies ever again."

Crow quickly started down the fire escape, his hands shaking. He had screwed up so, so very badly. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard Jack scream above him, the sound riddled with anger and grief and hopelessness. Crow paused for a moment, the sound echoing in the early-morning silence. He knew that that grief-stricken sound would haunt him for the rest of his life. As Crow stood there, he could hear something crash above him and he could envision Jack kicking something around. A new sound caught Crow's attention and he flinched involuntarily. "I'm sorry," Crow whispered, as he started running away. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he had to get away. Because that was something he hadn't expected to hear: Jack had started to sob, the noise broken and half-choked. Crow couldn't listen to that bare, vulnerable display of grief and ran, the strangled sob still echoing in his memory.

* * *

Crow slowed to a stop in the shadow of some nameless building. He had never hated himself more than the current moment. He had gotten a boy killed because he had been selfish and only looking out for himself. Crow tugged viciously at his hair, but the action only reminded him of Crutchie and he had to stop. He just wished there was something he could do to fix the horrible mess he had created. And there was nothing. Nothing that he could do.

Except…

Crow paused. There was no way he could bring Crutchie back from the dead, but maybe he could keep Snyder from gaining information about the strike. He had destroyed the life of one of the newsies, but perhaps Crow could protect the lives of everyone else.

Only, it would require him to actually return back to the Refuge. He'd be back under the thumb of Snyder the murdering Spider. And to make it worse, Crow would be giving Snyder incorrect information about the strike and as soon as Snyder discovered that Crow was lying, there would be pain. Unimaginable pain. Crow's heart clenched. Maybe even death. Snyder had already gone and murdered the innocent crippled boy. Who could say that he would stay his hand when it came to Crow?

Crow hesitated for only a moment, before making his way back to the Refuge, his steps heavy and slow. This would be his penance. And if he died? Well, he deserved that after everything that had happened to Crutchie. With a soft, bitter laugh, Crow realized that no one would mourn his death anyway. He had estranged himself from his only friends by murdering their brother. So, let him die; he was going to try his hardest to correct that awful wrong.

It wasn't long before Crow finally reached the Refuge. He stopped outside the large, imposing building. He didn't want to be here. God, he really didn't want to be here. Swallowing loudly, Crow knocked on the front door. Morris Delancey pulled open the door and stared at the boy. "Crow. Didn't expect to see your face ever again. Get in here. I'm sure Snyder'd be pleased to hear from you." Morris grabbed Crow by the ear, tugging the smaller boy into this familiar hell.

Morris brought Crow straight to Snyder's personal office. Crow had been there only once previously and he shivered at the memory of that awful day. The office still looked the same. Perhaps, the shadows were less sharp, less intimidating than his memory had drawn them, but it was recognizable after months of nightmares. Seated in a plush, velvet chair, was Snyder. The imposing man was bent over a newspaper, examining one of the articles. "Look who I found," Morris announced proudly.

Snyder looked up, grinning down at Crow. "Ah, if it isn't our prodigal son returned. Had enough of mucking around in pigs' troughs?" Crow didn't know how to respond to Snyder, wasn't even entirely sure that he understood what the older man was referring to, so he opted to remain silent. Snyder grinned wryly. "Do you at least return with information?"

"Yes," Crow said softly, still feeling as if he were betraying the Manhattan newsies, even though he knew that he would only be feeding Snyder lies.

"Good," Snyder said, his voice honeyed. "Well," he continued, motioning for Crow to speak. "Do tell."

"What do you want to know?" Crow asked.

"Their plans. What does the infamous Jack Kelly have planned for the strike?"

Crow swallowed, recognizing that he would have to tell the greatest, most believable lie in, perhaps, his entire lifetime. If Snyder so much as smelled the possibility of a lie, he would be punished. Viciously. It would be worth it, however, if it protected the Manhattan newsboys. "They'se planning on marching up to the governor and demanding their rights. And, if anyone gets in their way, they'se gonna pound 'em back," Crow lied. "It's been said that Governor Roosevelt is sympathetic to the strike, so they'se gonna go talk to him straight."

Snyder stared at Crow for a long moment and Crow began to fear that he could see right through the lie he had composed. And then, the older man nodded. "Well, they won't even reach the Governor, if I have anything to do with it. What street are they taking up?"

"Lafayette," Crow lied.

Snyder nodded, grinning maliciously. "They won't even see it coming. Thank you, Crow. Morris, escort Crow to the common room."

Morris grabbed Crow's upper arm, practically dragging the smaller boy to the room he had worked so hard—so selfishly—to escape. Crow was met with glares by the boys who recognized him as Snyder's personal snitch, but he ignored the hardened looks. Maybe he had made the wrong choice before, but he was trying to do the right thing now and it would take more than a couple rude looks to keep him from working through his plan.

Crow's eyes skipped to the smashed window and he was reminded of that awful day when Crutchie had been flung into the glass. The broken shards had been cleaned up since he had escaped and the window had been boarded over, most likely to prevent escapes than to keep the cold air out. He glanced toward the decrepit bunk bed Crow had left Crutchie to die and had to look twice to reassure himself that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.

Crutchie was still sprawled out on the bed, in much the same position as how Crow had left him. Crow started forward, but was jerked backwards by Morris' grip. "Betcha didn't expect to find him still alive. Too bad he won't last much longer," Morris hissed, his voice sour. "Anyway," Morris added, with a grin, "maybe you should go let the crip spend his last hours alive with a friend by his side. Oh, wait. You're not a friend, traitor." With a barking laugh, Morris shoved Crow into Crutchie's direction, before exiting the room.

Crow stumbled, but caught himself before he hit the floor. He ignored Morris' laughter, but couldn't quite shake the words off. Crow quickly approached Crutchie's bed, hesitating just as he reached the lower bed. Some black kid that Crow didn't recognize glared at Crow, asking, "You the kid that betrayed the newsies?"

"Is he okay?" Crow asked, ignoring the other kid's question.

"No, he ain't, no thanks to you," the black kid grumbled. "Or anyone else in this hellhole."

Crow sat down on the edge of the bed, ignoring the dirty looks the other boy was shooting at him and focusing on Crutchie. His skin seemed even paler than before and he had high points of color in both his cheeks. Crutchie's breathing was shallow and the boy was still unconscious. Crow was suddenly very afraid that Crutchie hadn't woken up since Oscar had flung him to the floor and he had been pulled into a coma. Crow didn't know much about comas, but he knew it was possible for someone to slip away without ever waking up again. "He's been like this since Oscar?" Crow asked.

The black kid shook his head. "Nah, he woke up the next day. But, he got real sick while we was out working in the yard and was vomiting all over the place. Snyder had him sent back up here. Whatever he's got, it ain't good. He needs a doctor, but Snyder won't spring for one." The boy shrugged. "Before you got here, Snyder was sayin' he won't get a doctor because Crutchie was supposed to die. _You_ know the deal. But, now that you'se here, he's gonna have to come up with some other excuse to avoid gettin' the boy help."

"What's your name?" Crow asked. "And why're you helpin' him?"

"The name's Joey and I'm helpin' him 'cuz I happen to be a decent person."

Crow smiled. "That's good. He—I shouldn't have done what I did to him," Crow finished softly.

Joey stared at Crow, before returning the smile. "You changed."

"Yeah, well, it's too late now," Crow muttered, waving his hand at Crutchie's prone form.

"Maybe…" Joey said, before continuing. "Maybe you can break out again and get a doctor."

"If I do, they'll probably kill him," Crow pointed out, ever the optimist.

Joey nodded. "Okay, so we won't do that. Maybe his friend Jack will come back to get him outta here," Joey suggested.

Crow shook his head. "I told Jack that Crutchie had died. I had thought… I mean, I'm glad he's not, but now there isn't a way to tell Jack or any of the other newsies…"

"Why did you come back, especially if you thought he was dead?" Joey asked.

"I had to do something. I was feelin' real bad about getting Crutchie killed so I decided to come back and give Snyder the wrong information 'bout the strike. I figured, even if Snyder found out and decided to kill me, it'd be fair payment after Crutchie and all."

"Are they still going through with the strike?" Joey asked, picking at grime under his fingernails.

Crow nodded, before pausing. "I—I don't know. I hope so. They was, last I knew about it. But, then I told Jack 'bout Crutchie and now I'm worried he might just quit. If they strike, maybe they can close the Refuge down and then we'd be able to get Crutchie the doctor he needs," Crow said, reflecting on the words as he spoke them. That had been the lie he had told Jack, not ever believing the words and just saying whatever it took to get him out of the hellhole. But, now, he discovered that he wanted to those words to be true. He wanted to ignore that realistic doubt that niggled at his conscience that there was no possible way for a group of grungy newsboys to close the Refuge, even if, by some spectacular moment of luck, they won the strike. The hard truth was that Crow really hadn't lied to Jack: Crutchie would still die in the Refuge. His truth had just been a couple days premature.

* * *

 **Here's a funny story: So, I was taking a test in my Shakespeare class and one of the questions asked to me to name Julius Caesar's wife. So, I put down Carpathia, and it looked wrong, but the name was stuck in my head. No, her name is Calphurnia, and the Carpathia is that ship that was supposed to rescue the Titanic passengers. Oops. I guess all that research for Making Tomorrow's Headlines is coming back to screw up my schoolwork. My professor actually circled the name and wrote "the ship?" next to it. Yeah, yeah, the ship. My bad.**

 **Anyway, reviews are always welcome!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Happy Friday! The weekend is finally here... This story has gone by so quickly, though. There is only one chapter left, which I hope to publish next Friday, but I'll be out of town, so I can't guarantee it'll be up Friday morning as usual. If I don't get to it on Friday, it will be published on Sunday at the latest. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

It had been two days since Crow had voluntarily subjected himself to the terrors of the Refuge. With Joey's help, Crow had managed to wrestle a blanket away from one of the angry-looking boys that had spent too much time in the Refuge, the months hardening their baby-skinned faces. The newly-won blanket was wrapped around Crutchie's shivering frame, in some last-ditch effort to keep the crippled boy comfortable. Crutchie had a fever and Crow could feel the heat radiating from the other boy's body.

Joey sat back, leaning against the wall and watching Crutchie's chest slowly rise and fall. "How much longer do you think he's gonna last?" Joey asked softly. The boy's breathing had slowed down since the last time they had been consciously measuring it and Joey was starting to lose hope that the younger boy would survive. He didn't know what was ailing Crutchie and unless they were able to find a doctor, Joey had accepted the fact that the other boy would pass on.

Crow sighed, picking at some of the blanket's loose threads. "Don't know… Probably not that much longer." The two boys fell silent for a moment, before Crow remarked. "Today's the day they was supposed to be striking. They was gonna get all the other kids involved and maybe that would get the people to notice us."

"Do ya think they'se striking right now?"

Crow shrugged. "I don't know. If Jack up and left… I just don't know. I wish I was out there helping them."

"I just wish we had a way of helping Crutchie," Joey said. "He's not gettin' better."

"I bet Jack wishes he were here now. Bet he'd want to spend the last couple days with Crutchie, no matter that the kid still hasn't really woken up."

"He kinda did that one day, remember? We thought he was gettin' better," Joey reminded Crow.

There had been one morning when Crutchie's fever had begun to recede and by mid-afternoon, Joey and Crow were hopeful that the boy had managed to overcome his illness on his own. Just as the sky had begun to darken, Crutchie had awoken, but he hadn't been entirely cognizant of what was going on. The crippled boy had first stuttered out what must have been a request for Jack, but his words were mangled by a hoarse voice and a fever-struck brain. Then, he had noticed Crow. Crutchie had tried to attack the boy, but his body had been too weak to do more than shift his arms in Crow's direction. The weakened attack had increased Crutchie's breathing and his breaths were coming in sharp gasps. Joey had quickly shooed Crow away, struggling to calm the sick boy. After that incident, Crutchie's fever had come back, full-force, and the boy had yet to reawaken. If he even would, Crow thought darkly.

"Yeah, well, it only made him worse," Crow pointed out.

"I just wish Snyder would let us get him a doctor. Though, at this point, it might not even do the kid any good. I ain't ever seen someone so sick before."

"He wasn't sick enough to not notice me," Crow muttered.

"Yeah, well, he ain't gettin' any better."

The two boys fell silent for a moment, before Joey asked, "What d'ya think they do with a boy after he dies? D'ya think Snyder'd spring for a funeral? Probably not, huh?"

"No, I don't think so. There was one time, some kid died. We all just woke up one morning and we had to work out in the yard, y'know. And… And one boy didn't get up. He—he wasn't… When we got back from working, the kid was gone. Don't know what Snyder or the Delanceys did with him," Crow muttered, his mind shifting back to one of the darkest times in his life.

"How'd he die?" Joey asked quietly.

Crow remained silent for a long moment before whispering, "The Delanceys worked him over the day before. He had… He took the blame for some kid that had stolen some of Snyder's food for the other boys. They—they worked him over hard. Messed his head up. There was… There was just so much blood. We all tried to patch him up okay, but he—Don't know what they ever did with him after… after you know." Crow ignored the curious look Joey was giving him, still wanting more information on the kid's death, but Crow wouldn't say anymore, couldn't say anymore. It hadn't been just some kid; it had been Ricky. Little Ricky. And when Crow glanced at Crutchie's still body, it was Ricky's gaunt, pale face that he saw. Once again, he had screwed an innocent boy's life up.

"They've gotta have buried him," Joey said.

"Or tossed him into some alleyway," Crow muttered bitterly.

"Well, they've gotta bury Crutchie. It—it ain't right if—"

"And when has Snyder ever done what's right?" Crow challenged.

"Look—" Joey began, but was interrupted when the door was slammed open with a jarring bang.

A wide-eyed boy that looked to be about ten stood in the doorway, breathing heavily as everyone stared at him. "They—they'se done it. The newsboys won the strike!"

Some kid across the room rolled his eyes. "Well, fantastic for them. Why are we supposed to care?" he muttered, the biting sarcasm thick in his words.

"No, you don't understand," the kid asserted, shaking his head. "They won the strike for all da kids! Governor Roosevelt is gonna arrest Snyder for mistreatin' you'se guys." There was a beat of silence, before the kid continued, "You'se guys are free to go."

Once again, silence stretched among the boys, until, finally, one of the older boys spoke up. "Well, I ain't waiting for this dream to end. See ya later, suckers," he said, quickly exiting the room. That movement burst the dam and soon all the other boys were scrambling down, out of bunks, and leaving the horrid Refuge behind.

"We'se free," Joey whispered.

"They won," Crow breathed.

Joey turned to face Crow. "You gotta go get Jack. You gotta get someone to be here for Crutchie. I'll stay here with him, but you gotta go."

Crow nodded. "You'll be fine here?" he asked the other boy.

"Yeah, we'll be okay. Just go bring Jack here. It's what Crutchie would want before—It's what Crutchie would want," Joey finished lamely.

"I'll be back just as soon as I find him," Crow promised, exiting the building without glancing backwards at Joey and the dying, crippled boy. As soon as Crow was outside and he could feel the tender warmth of the sun against his cheeks, he began to doubt his actions. It would be so easy to just run; who knew if he'd ever be free of the Refuge again? Returning with Jack would only risk his own safety, especially if the young boy was lying and Snyder hadn't been arrested. Unimaginable pain would await his return. "It would be so damn easy," Crow whispered.

But, even as the thought crosses his mind, he shoves it away. He couldn't. Crow knew that he had made so many mistakes, one after another, and it was high time that he did the right thing. But, then, just as soon as he got Jack to Crutchie, he was taking off and never looking back.

* * *

Crow was almost surprised when he found Jack surrounded by a bunch of the celebrating newsies. He had half-expected the older boy to take off after hearing that Crutchie had died. Apparently, he had decided to stick around to see the strike through. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the confrontation that would surely take place between him and Jack, Crow approached the older boy. Once he was within ear-shot, Crow called out, "Jack! Jack, I'se gotta talk to you."

Jack turned, the motion almost predatory. "I told ya to get outta here," he growled, his eyes narrowing in Crow's direction. "I told ya I never wanted to see your mug 'round here ever again. Murderer," he spat out, the word venomous.

"I know and I'se sorry," Crow quickly apologized, "but, he ain't dead."

Jack stiffened at Crow's words and his face turned even angrier. Crow didn't understand why Jack would be angrier at the truth Crow had spoken, but it all made sense when Jack hissed. "Don't you dare lie to me. I don't know why ya think it's fun to toy with people's lives and feelings, but you better turn tail and run before I pound your sorry butt into the ground. And don't think I won't. It's the least of what you deserve after—" He cut himself off, turning away from Crow.

"I ain't lyin'!" Crow exclaimed. "I had thought that Snyder had killed him. But, he ain't dead. He—" Crow cut himself off, his voice lowering. "He ain't dead, but he ain't doin' so well neither. Y-you should probably go see him. Before… Jack, I ain't lyin', I swear, but if you don't come now, you'll always wish you had."

Crow watched Jack war with himself over whether he should follow the smaller boy or not. Finally, Jack nodded, threatening, "If you betray me one more time, Crow, I'll—You don't even want to know what I'd do to you."

With a quick nod, Crow brushed the threat off. "Yes, of course. But, we've really gotta get going. He—you gotta see Crutchie as soon as possible."

It was a long, awkward walk to the Refuge. Crow had tried to start a conversation, but Jack had remained tight-lipped and Crow had finally just given into the silence. He knew he deserved this silent treatment, but it didn't stop the punishment from chafing at his pride. Crow was finally trying to make everything right for Jack and the older boy still wouldn't show him any respect. When they finally reached the Refuge, Crow hesitated, suddenly afraid to step over that threshold. For all he knew, Snyder could have returned and would be waiting to beat all hope out of Crow's life. Or the Delanceys may have stuck behind and Crow didn't particularly look forward to tangling with the brothers. Maybe, even, Crutchie had already died and Crow would be stuck in a small room with a furious, smarting Jack.

"If this is a trap..." Jack growled, and Crow knew the older boy was recalling how Crow had admitted he had been working for Snyder.

"It ain't," Crow said, though he doubted that Jack would completely trust him until he saw for himself that Crutchie was still clinging to the dregs of life.

The room in the Refuge where Crow had left Crutchie and Joey was three flights of stairs up and with each step that Crow took, his feet grew heavier and he slowed down. By this point, Crow knew that Snyder and the Delanceys weren't around and he didn't have to worry about those fears coming to fruition. But, Crutchie could still be dead. They could be too late. All of Crow's efforts to finally change and make things right would be pointless.

Crow hesitantly stepped into the room, his eyes immediately leaping to the corner of the room where Crutchie had been bedridden for the past couple days. His breath caught when he realized the bed was empty and Joey's familiar presence was missing. "No," Crow breathed. Crutchie couldn't have died. He had only been gone for… How long had it been? An hour? Surely, it hadn't been two hours. How could he have died so quickly, so soon?

"Where is he?" Jack asked, his voice rough as he fought back the hope that had been slowly growing.

"I—I don't know," Crow whispered. "He was here right before I went to find you."

Jack's back was stiff, unyielding as his eyes skipped from the boarded-up window to the bed that Crutchie had last occupied. Crow knew that the hard reality of Crutchie's death was being slowly comprehended and as soon as the harsh connection was made, Jack would, most likely, throttle Crow. "I had hoped—" he began, but cut himself off, his shoulders suddenly slumping and drawing into each other. "Just leave," he said, his voice soft and defeated.

"He was—" Crow began, but realized that nothing he could say would lessen the hurt he had caused. Crow had given Jack hope that Crutchie would still be there, that Jack would at least have the opportunity to say goodbye. And now it was gone. Everything was gone. "I'm sorry," Crow whispered, the words lame and insufficient in the awful situation. The older boy didn't react and Crow almost thought that Jack hadn't heard him. "I'll just… I'll just go, then," Crow muttered, stepping away from Jack. He watched the older boy, but Jack didn't move, simply remained staring at the broken, boarded-up window. With a slight shake of his head, Crow turned to exit the horrid room, planning on never thinking about the newsies strike and the lives he had singlehandedly destroyed ever again.

Just as Crow started down the stairs, a familiar black boy barreled up the stairs, nearly knocking Crow over in the process. Joey stopped quickly, half-turning to face Crow, and nearly fell back down the stairs as he overbalanced. "Crow!" he exclaimed. "I was hopin' I'd beat you back here. Did you find Jack?"

"Yeah, he's in the room," Crow muttered, before beginning back down the stairs.

"Where're ya going?" Joey called out after the raven-haired boy.

Crow paused to shrug. "Don't know. I just know that I don't want to be there when you tell Jack that Crutchie… I just gotta go."

"He ain't dead, if that's what you was thinking," Joey quickly pointed out, finally understanding what was bugging Crow. "He ain't. We got him to a hospital."

"Who's 'we?'" Crow asked, turning back to Joey.

Joey grinned, puffing out his chest a bit. "Gov'nor Roosevelt and I." When Crow only stared at Joey skeptically, the boy continued. "No, it's true. Gov'nor Roosevelt was coming to check up on the conditions of the Refuge, or something, and he saw me and Crutchie there in the corner. I explained what was goin' on and he took Crutchie and I in his personal carriage to the hospital. They're fixing Crutchie up real good there. He's gonna be okay, I think, now that he's got a whole team of doctors workin' to fix him. Then, once I was sure Crutchie was fine and all, I told Gov'nor Roosevelt that I had to go find you and Jack and I just barely got here, but we can all go visit him now."

"Well, tell Jack. He'll be glad. I'm still gonna, uh, go," Crow said, starting back down the stairs.

"You aren't gonna go see him?" Joey asked, grabbing at Crow's shoulder.

Crow quickly shrugged the other boy off. "We both know just how well that turned out last time he saw me."

"Yeah, but—" Joey began, only to be cut off when Jack exited the room. He seemed somewhat surprised to see Crow still there, but continued to make his way down the stairs past the boys. Crow could almost see the grief weighing down Jack's shoulders.

"Wait!" Joey quickly called out. "You're Jack, right? Crutchie's friend?"

"Look, I've gotta go," Jack said, continuing down the stairs.

"He's not dead," Joey pointed out. "Crutchie isn't."

Jack didn't even pause as he continued down the stairs. "I'm done listening to you and your murdering friend."

Joey leapt forward, grabbing Jack's shoulder. The older boy stiffened at the unwelcome touch. "I ain't lying. Crutchie isn't dead; he's at a hospital. You've gotta go and be with him. We can't just leave him alone there."

"And you expect me to believe that a scruffy kid had the funds to take Crutchie to a hospital? I don't even have the money to—Stop lying to me."

"I ain't! Gov'nor Roosevelt took him there. He saw he was sick and he brought him to the hospital. If you don't believe me, let me prove it to you. Just come to the hospital. And if I'm lying, you just go home. But, if I'm not—which, I'm not—you sit down there and you help Crutchie get through this. He…" Joey hesitated a brief moment, before continuing. He knew this would hurt Jack, would prick at his conscience, but Joey needed to say something to push Jack in the right direction. "He needs you to be there for him. When he first found out that you had gotten Crow outta there instead of him, he…" Joey watched carefully as Jack's face hardened, a mask being put in place to hide the emotions that were, no doubt roiling in Jack's mind. "And then, when he first got sick, real sick, I was tryin' to help him and he called for you. I know you didn't know 'bout everything that was going on and it ain't really your fault that you wasn't there for him then, but you'se gotta be there for Crutchie now."

Jack stared at Joey, watching the black boy steadily, before relenting. "Fine. Fine, but if you've lied to me once more…"

Crow had stood there, listening to Joey convince Jack to go visit Crutchie, content to remain on the sideline and disappear once the two boys left for the hospital. He was glad Crutchie was getting the help he needed, but that didn't mean that Crow was inclined to join the other two boys. Which was why Crow was so surprised to find Jack suddenly staring at him expectantly. "What?" Crow asked.

"Are you coming?"

"To the hospital? No. I—no."

"Yes, you are. You are coming because, so help me if that kid isn't healing in a hospital bed, you are going to be next to me in case I need to wring your neck."

"Ain't that a comfort," Crow muttered. He turned to Joey, once Jack began to make his way determinedly to the hospital. "That kid better be there."

Joey nodded. "He is. Gov'nor Roosevelt was gettin' him all situated when I left."

By the time the three boys reached the hospital, Crow felt as if he would die before Jack even got the opportunity to kill him. The entire journey had been tense and silent, with Jack shooting suspicious glances at Crow every other minute, it seemed. Crow had begun to wish that the ground would just open up and swallow him whole. Or that forked lightning would split the sky, and split his head while it was at it. Joey had attempted to start a conversation, but the words had fallen flat because Jack was unwilling to talk and Crow was too afraid to talk.

Joey led them into the hospital, guiding them up a flight of stairs to the second floor. "He's just up here. They was gettin' a doctor for him when I left to find you guys."

He pushed open a door, revealing Crutchie, motionless on a hospital bed. Jack's breath caught. Crutchie wasn't dead; he was right there in front of Jack. Except… Except he wasn't moving. Crutchie's face was pale, nearly as pale as the starched sheets some nurse had covered him in. His dirty blonde hair was matted back with sweat and dirt, a stark contrast from the pallor of his forehead. "He… He ain't dead?" Jack asked, stepping forward hesitantly.

There was a rustle of fabric preluding the answer that followed Jack's worried question. "No, he isn't." A bespectacled doctor entered the room, holding a stack of papers.

"You his doctor?" Jack quickly demanded.

"Yes, I am."

"Okay, then what's wrong with him?"

The doctor glanced down at the papers he was holding, before looking back up at Jack. "It looks like he was coming down with the cold and then his injuries got infected. We've cleaned him up and now we just wait," the doctor informed Jack. "I do have a question for you, however. Do you know how to get in contact with the boy's parents?"

Jack scuffed his shoe against the floor of the hospital, before admitting, "He don't have parents. He's got me."

"Hm," the doctor said, marking something down on the pile of papers he was holding. "I'll have to get in contact with Mr. Davis, then."

"Who's this Mista Davis?" Jack asked, suspiciously.

"Well, he's the director of the orphanage. If your friend doesn't have any parents, then he must—"

Crow stiffened at those words. He had, luckily, never been sent to the orphanage, but he had heard of rooms where boys would sit alone in the dark, the oppressive nothing only being briefly interrupted by meals. They'd sit there, waiting, watching, hoping to turn an adult and finally be free of the system. To think that Crutchie would go straight from the Refuge to an orphanage: the idea was awful.

"Just because he ain't got parents," Jack quickly interrupted, "doesn't mean he ain't got family. I'm his family. The rest of the newsboys is his family."

"I'd still need to—"

Jack shook his head. "No, you ain't taking him away from us. We'se his family," his voice growing louder as he got more irritated with the doctor that didn't understand just how important the newsies were to each other.

"I understand that," the doctor said, his voice soft and calming, "but, we'd still need to send him somewhere that he could get the care he needed." The doctor nodded, seriously. "Young boys need adult supervision and we'd be taking him somewhere safe, somewhere that he can have an adult taking care of him."

If the words were meant to be calming, they had the exact opposite effect. The doctor's attempt at comforting Jack only brought up memories of the Refuge, which had been labeled as "somewhere safe" and somewhere boys could have "adult supervision." Awful half-memories of Snyder leering at the boys that he lorded over jerked across Jack's mind, his hair standing up in remembered fears. Jack had already made the mistake of losing Crutchie to the Refuge and he refused to let his friend down again. Crow watched the color slowly drain from Jack's face and he knew exactly what the older boy was thinking of because the same thoughts had crossed his mind. He remembered honeyed words about being safe and finally having an adult in charge. He remembered the horrors that took place next, half-shrouded in glittering phrases and lying comforts.

"No," Jack croaked out, his voice hoarse with fear. "No, I ain't letting him outta my sight again. He ain't goin' there."

The doctor rolled his eyes, frustration evident in his tone. "Look, kid, this decision isn't up to you. If your friend there has no family, he's going to have to go to an orphanage. That's how it works. For a reason."

"You don't understand—" Jack began, but was cut off when a familiar figure from years of selling papes and vaguely following the news entered the room.

"Would someone mind explaining what is going on?" Governor Theodore Roosevelt asked.

"Gov'nor Roosevelt?" Jack asked.

"See!" Joey exclaimed. "I told ya and you wouldn't believe me."

"As it would seem, young man," Governor Roosevelt addressed Jack. "Now, what seems to be the problem here."

The doctor immediately began to explain the situation. "This boy here," he began, gesturing to Crutchie's unnaturally still form, "does not have any parents, so we need to get in contact with the city orphanage so that there can be arrangements for him to live there just as soon as he heals."

"No, he ain't," Jack quickly interjected. "He ain't going back to a place where they'll just suck the life right outta him. I won't let him."

"Unfortunately, your opinion has no weight in this decision," the doctor shot back at Jack. "The orphanage must be contacted because they will be the ones who pay for this boy's medical fee. And I'm pretty sure you are unable to spot the money?"

"I—I've got a dollar," Jack began, fishing into his pockets for the meagre coins that he had. "But, I'll pay the rest back. How much will it cost?"

"Over fourteen dollars. Maybe more if it takes him a long time to heal," the doctor informed Jack a little too smugly.

Crow's eyes widened. Fourteen dollars was a staggering price. There was no way Jack could get that type of money, even if all the newsies pooled their extra coins. Crutchie was as good as lost to the orphanage.

"Fourteen…" Jack breathed, going pale. "I'll pay the rest back, it'll just take a while," he promised. "Ya just can't take him to an orphanage."

Governor Roosevelt pulled out a thick wallet and handed a ten dollar bill to the doctor. "This will suffice for the moment? I'll pay the rest of the debt after the boy is out of the hospital."

"Governor Roosevelt, you don't have to—"

"And this is so that you don't contact the orphanage; I'll take care of the boy," Governor Roosevelt said, handing the doctor a five dollar bill.

"Um, okay, sir," the doctor said, backing out of the room and staring at the bill.

Once the doctor had left, Governor Roosevelt turned to the three boys who were staring at him. "Don't worry. I won't let him go to the orphanage. If it's anything like that blasted Refuge, we've got to be more careful about where we send our youth. I need to go, but will you all be okay?"

Jack nodded, answering for the other boys in the room. Governor Roosevelt nodded back, before leaving the room.

"And neither of you would believe me," Joey groused. "I told you."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, Joey," Jack said, turning to Crutchie and focusing on his injured friend. Crow took this as an excellent time to slip out of the room and leave all of this behind. He was glad Crutchie would be okay, but he still needed to get out of there. Just as Crow started backing toward the door, Jack turned to him, "Oh, and Crow? Thank you."

* * *

 **So, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. One more to go! Constructive criticism and reviews are always appreciated!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sunday... Monday... Basically the same thing, right? Eh... I'm sorry. Anyway, here is the conclusion! Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Crutchie was in the hospital for three whole days, but he was only unconscious for two of those days. Jack had stayed over at the hospital just as much as he could, refusing to leave Crutchie's side after everything that had happened in the Refuge. Crow suspected that Joey's comment about Crutchie calling out for Jack back when the crippled boy was very sick still niggled at Jack's conscience. "I'm gonna be here when that stupid kid wakes up," Jack had informed Crow. The words had been teasingly affectionate and Crow had taken it as a joke, until he heard what Jack next muttered as he stared down at Crutchie's motionless form. "I want him to know he's outta that hellhole and that he's safe now. That I ain't never gonna let him down again."

As soon as it became clear that Crutchie would be fine, Joey had taken his leave. He had nodded at both Jack and Crow, informing the boys, "Tell him I'm glad he's okay once he wakes up."

"You're leaving?" Jack had asked.

"I got my own family I'se got to get back to," Joey had said, refusing to elaborate when Jack asked. "I'm glad Crutchie's outta there. I hope he wakes up soon." With that, Joey had left and Crow doubted that he would ever see the black boy ever again.

To be honest, Crow wasn't entirely sure why he had stuck around. Jack had thanked him and Crow was still surprised by the sincerity of Jack's gratitude. Crow had assumed that Jack would be glad that Crutchie was still alive, but would promptly forget about the black-haired boy in the background. He hadn't, though. Instead, Jack had invited Crow to stay until Crutchie woke up. Crow suspected that it was because Jack still wanted to have someone to blame just in case Crutchie never left the hospital bed. He had been tempted to leave anyway, but, as long as he was sticking around in the hospital room, Governor Roosevelt, himself, was paying for meals for the boys. So, he had stayed and enjoyed the free, satisfying meals.

On the second day, Crutchie's fever broke. The doctor even managed to smile when he told Jack and Crow. "He's on the mend," the young doctor said, looking up from his ever-present clipboard. "Hopefully, he'll wake up soon, now that he's overcome the fever; that's the first big step to recovery." Jack had grinned, the first genuine display of relief and happiness that Crow had seen in a while, and had grasped at Crutchie's hand, squeezing the limp appendage. "You hear that, Crutch?" Jack had whispered after the doctor had left, "You're almost there; the battle's halfway over. Just keep fighting this. Don't give up now." Crow had managed a brief smile, relieved that it looked as if Crutchie would finally be getting better. The had smile faded, however, when he realized that once Crutchie was better, he'd just have to move on and he was starting to think that maybe he didn't want to leave Jack and the other newsboys that Crow was getting to know when they dropped by to visit their incapacitated friend.

On the third day, Crutchie woke up. It wasn't the spectacular event Crow had been half-expecting. In fact, Crow wouldn't have even noticed anything was happening—he was leaning against the wall in the corner of the room, reading a book one of the Manhattan newsies had lent him—except for Jack's sudden intake of breath and quiet implorations of "Crutchie… Crutchie, are ya with me?"

There was a low groan from the hospital bed and Crow pushed himself to his feet, edging closer to where Crutchie was beginning to shift. The boy's eyes were squeezed shut, lines of pain spreading from the outside creases of his eyelids. His face was scrunched up and it didn't appear that he had heard Jack calling his name. Or, if he had, he hadn't yet connected the voice to his older friend.

Crutchie's continuing silence did nothing to alleviate Jack's stress-weighted fears. "Crutch," Jack said, his voice pitched slightly louder. He reached out for Crutchie's shoulder, suddenly needing to bridge the lack of human contact that had stretched between the pair of friends since Crutchie's capture. The sudden grip must have frightened Crutchie, for the younger boy immediately jerked out of Jack's reach, his body instinctively curling in on itself. "No, Crutch, it's me. It's Jack," Jack said, tentatively placing his hand on Crutchie's shoulder once more.

This time Crutchie didn't flinch away, but the crippled boy didn't acknowledge Jack's presence either. "Does… Does he not remember?" Crow asked quietly. Images of Oscar slamming Crutchie into the window, the glass shattering from the force of the impact of Crutchie's head, the sickening thud when Oscar then flung Crutchie to the ground, that flash of repulsive whites as Crutchie lost consciousness, all darted across Crow's mind in a startlingly clear kaleidoscope of memories. The boy had hit his head so hard, the sound still loud and pervasive in Crow's mind. Who was to say that the boy had not suffered some form of brain damage?

"He remembers," Jack muttered. "He's gotta."

Crow watched as Crutchie shifted more, slowly drifting back to awareness. "Maybe it's just gotta take some time?" he suggested.

"He's gonna be fine," Jack agreed. But the words spoke of false hope and a bravado that Crow had quickly learned to see through. Crow was no longer fooled by the charismatic strike leader that swaggered across the scene without a care in the world. He was just a kid, barely seventeen. God, they were all just kids and Crutchie had been hurt so, so badly. Crow was still just a kid, only fourteen, if he even remembered correctly. And they had all suffered at the hands of Snyder.

Crutchie shifted once more, leaning away from Jack's touch. Jack wasn't willing to allow the contact to break, so he sat down on the bed beside the crippled boy. Crutchie tensed as he recognized a presence beside him, but Jack refused to back away. He had already thought he had lost his best friend to the cruelly cold clutches of death and now that hope had been restored, he would not lose his best friend to fears or anxieties rooted in the Refuge. "Crutchie… Crutch, please. Please be okay. It's me; it's Jack. Crutchie…"

Slowly, hesitantly, Crutchie pried his eyes open, the muddy brown orbs languorously rolling around the room, no doubt expecting to find himself still trapped in the hellish Refuge. Jack and Crow watched as Crutchie observed the room, slow connections being made. They watched as his eyes tracked the white-scrubbed walls, following the pale as it stretched around the room. Crutchie slowly seemed to recognize he was on a bed, a sheet draped over him, rumpled from half-remembered nightmares that had haunted Jack more than they had haunted Crutchie. His eyes slowly roved from the clean, white sheets to where Jack's hand was pressed against the mattress, keeping the older boy upright. Crutchie jolted slightly at the sudden appearance of another person, but he carefully followed the path between the hand and the shoulder, taking in each smudge of dirt, each small freckle, each tremble of the muscle, each wrinkle in the faded blue shirt, up until he reached Jack's face.

For a long, heart-stopping moment, Crutchie's face, still tense from half-shaped memories, didn't shift into recognition. Then all the previous memories caught up and Crutchie opened his mouth, struggling to say something. Crow didn't get a chance to figure out what Crutchie was trying to say. Jack quickly preempted, "Crutchie, it's okay. You're safe now. I'm here."

Crow was jealous of the way that Crutchie immediately relaxed, how the younger boy slumped backwards into the pillow. "Jack," Crutchie breathed, the relief palpable in his voice, allowing his eyes to slip closed once more. "I had thought—" Crutchie started, his voice rough and hoarse from lack of use.

"Hey, you don't gotta talk," Jack said, interrupting Crutchie gently. "Your voice ain't up to it yet. All you've gotta know is that you're outta the Refuge and I ain't ever letting you get brought back there ever again."

"How—?" Crutchie began, before Jack shushed him once more.

"We won the strike and Gov'nor Roosevelt himself shut up the Refuge. None of us are ever gonna have to worry about that hellhole anymore. Anyway, the Gov'nor brought you here and you've been out of it for a while. Joey says 'hi,' by the way. He had to go, but he made sure you got the help you needed."

Crutchie nodded, a frown creasing his face as he was forced to forego talking. Then Crutchie's eyes found Crow's and the frown deepened. "What's—" Crutchie began, but the words were lost as the effort to speak strained his throat. He coughed once, which only made him feel as if he needed to cough even more. Jack gently squeezed Crutchie's shoulder, waiting for the tickle in Crutchie's throat to pass.

Once Crutchie had recovered, Jack spoke up. "Crow? He's the one that helped me find you. If he hadn't taken the time to search me out after we won the strike, I'd still think you was dead. Which, I suppose is his fault, but he's been trying to help since then. Crutch, he ain't that bad of a kid."

Crow noticed that Crutchie was still tiredly glaring at him and figured that he had overstayed his welcome. There was a palpable tension in the room and Crow no longer wished to be the center of it. "Look, Jack, I should probably get goin'. I've gotta…" Crow trailed off when Jack stared at him in confusion.

"You're just going to go? Where?"

With a slight shrug, Crow muttered, "The deal was that I stuck around 'til Crutchie got better. He's better now, so I'm just gonna go." He didn't want to create any sort of animosity or tension between Jack and Crutchie just based off of his presence. Although Crow had enjoyed getting to know the Manhattan newsies, he didn't think he could stay around much longer. "I've got people I can join up with."

"So, you're just going to run back to those boys who tried to beat the crap outta you?" Jack asked, shaking his head. "No, you ain't."

"Well, when a kid doesn't have a family, he's gotta go with whatever he's got, whether it's good or not," Crow bit out, frustration driving the words. "Not that I'd expect you to understand that."

"And what if I'm offering you a family?" Jack suddenly said, ignoring the jab.

"W-what?"

"What if I'm offering you a place with the Manhattan newsies? I don't think you should be heading out on the streets again, not if it means you have to join back up with those boys or if you're gonna be on your own. It's your choice, Crow, but the offer holds."

Crow froze, his mind whirring as it tried to make sense of what Jack was proposing. After everything, _everything_ , that had happened between Crow and Crutchie and Jack, Crow had assumed that Jack would be glad to get the black-haired boy out of his life just as humanly possible. He started to stutter something, but fell silent, not knowing what his answer would be. He knew what he wanted to say, but there was still so many other factors to consider and Crow just wasn't sure if he deserved a place among the Manhattan newsies, not after the endless avalanche of mistakes that had structured his life like a poorly composed plot-line of some sob story.

Jack must have recognized Crow's hesitation to answer, so he quickly interjected, "You don't hafta decide now, if you don't want to. Just—just know the offer stands."

Chewing at his bottom lip, Crow turned to face Crutchie, curious how the crippled boy felt about the generous offer Jack had made. Surprisingly, Crutchie's face was completely devoid of emotion. He held Crow's gaze for a few long seconds, before breaking away and picking at a loose thread on the sheet draped over his still-healing body. Crow shook his head. _Maybe he shouldn't…_

Just as Crow had decided on his answer and had steeled himself to tell Jack, Governor Roosevelt entered the room. "Ah," he began, his voice booming in the small room, "I had heard that the young patient had awoken. How are you feeling, boy?" the governor asked, striding authoritatively across the room to where Crutchie blinked in surprise at Governor Roosevelt.

"Fine," Crutchie croaked out, his voice still raspy.

"I'm glad to hear of it," Governor Roosevelt said, patting Crutchie's good leg. "You get better, son. I do apologize for what you must have experienced in that hellish place. I'd just like to personally let you know that no other young kid like yourself will ever have to go through that. Not if I have a say in it." Governor Roosevelt nodded, before turning to Jack. "His hospital bill is completely taken care of. I spoke with Dr. Hallstrom and he believes that your young friend will be healthy enough to head home tomorrow. He'll have to take it easy," Governor Roosevelt said, looking Crutchie in the eye, before turning back to Jack, "but he'll be okay."

"Thank you," Jack said, still shocked that the governor had been willing to give up nearly fifteen— _fifteen_ —dollars to help Crutchie out. "Thank you so much. If ya ever need anything and any of the Manhattan newsies can be of assistance, just holler."

Governor Roosevelt grinned. "Oh, yes, if I ever need help, I'll be sure to… holler." He winked at the boys, before leaving the hospital room.

"That was really—" Crutchie began, but Jack cut him off.

"Gosh, Crutch, if I had known you was gonna be so chatty, I would've wished you'd just stayed asleep for a day longer," Jack said, sarcastically. "You'se gotta stay quiet until you feel better. And, yes, that was really our ol' pal Gov'nor Roosevelt. You didn't believe me?"

Crutchie rolled his eyes at Jack's teasing comment. "Just figured you was embellishing the truth a little."

* * *

The next day, when Crutchie had officially been released from the hospital and had finally reached the Manhattan Lodging House, he was greeted by a series of whoops and cheers from the various newsies. "Welcome home, Crutchie," Race had said, clapping his hand on Crutchie's shoulder. "Took you long enough to get off your lazy butt and make your way back here," he muttered.

"Hey, that ain't my fault," Crutchie complained, good-naturedly.

"Glad to have ya back," Specs offered. The other boys each took their turn greeting Crutchie and welcoming him back home. It didn't take long, however, before the other boys noticed Crow's presence. "What's he doin' here?" Romeo asked, suspicion tinging the four biting words.

To be honest, Crow didn't even know why he was there. He had tried to turn down Jack's offer to stay with the newsies, but Jack had insisted that the black-haired boy at least see Crutchie home. "Just in case," Jack had said, not further expounding on how Crow's presence would help the situation in any way whatsoever. Crutchie, Crow had noticed, had remained silent during the whole exchange and hadn't looked Crow in the eyes the entire time. Crow figured that the crippled boy was still reliving the moment Crow had betrayed Jack and the other newsies to Snyder. That moment was his last memory of the boy and Crow supposed that it would take more than he could ever give to prove that opinion wrong.

"Well, I was thinkin' that he might be able to find a spot among us as a newsie," Jack suggested, slinging his arm around Crow's shoulders.

The boys stared at Crow, unsure how to take this new suggestion. "I don't know," Race finally began. "He was lyin' to us earlier 'bout being from Brooklyn and being a newsie," he pointed out. "That ain't exactly the most trustworthy."

"Oh, like you ain't ever lied to us," Jack shot back. "Look, I'll vouch for him."

The newsies muttered between themselves for a couple of scorchingly long moments while Crow was forced to simply stand there and wait his sentence. He could feel the weight of over a dozen eyes that looked him up and down, zeroing in on all his faults and partitioning him into a myriad of different categories. He felt as if the boys were able to see straight through the mask he had carefully constructed, tearing at his deepest thoughts and insecurities, pupils like sharpened scalpels. Eventually, they separated and Race spoke up for the group. "Fine, but we reserve the right to kick him back to the streets if he puts us in danger again."

Jack nodded. "That's fair enough. What do ya say, Crow?"

Crow glanced at Jack, before his eyes were pulled towards Crutchie's emotionless face positioned slightly behind Jack's. "Uh, can I talk to Crutchie for a moment?" Crow asked. "In private?"

Crutchie looked taken aback and Crow was not lost to the brief moment of suspicion that furrowed Crutchie's brow before the skin smoothed back out. "Why?" Crutchie asked.

"Look, I just want to talk to you. But, uh, not with an audience."

"You heard the boy," Jack said, starting to shoo the gaggle of newsies back into the Lodging House. "Give 'em some space."

"What if he attacks Crutchie?" Buttons quickly spoke up, voicing the worries of a couple of the less trusting newsies.

Crow laughed bitterly. "You guys probably have more reason to be worried about the other way around." He smiled grimly when no one seemed to get the joke. "I won't, I swear. You don't trust me, fine. Watch out the window for all I care. I just gotta ask Crutchie something and I don't need a bunch of you'se guys privy to it."

Once Jack had herded all the boys into the Lodging House, Crow turned to face Crutchie. He ignored the weight of the curious gazes of all the newsies, separated by dirty panes of glass that were being spotted with grease marks from noses squished forward in an effort to figure out what was going on between Crow and Crutchie. "Look, Crutchie," Crow began, stuffing his hands down into his pockets, "I ain't done many things right by you. I shouldn't've betrayed the newsies or—or bet your life so that I could escape. I shouldn't've left you, neither, should've convinced Jack to get you outta there instead of focusing on saving my own skin. There's, well, there's really a rather long list of things that I shouldn't've done to you and I want you to know that I'm sorry, 'kay? And I would like to join the ranks of the Manhattan newsies, but—but I won't, not if you don't want me to. I—I'd understand."

Crow fell silent awaiting Crutchie's verdict. He had thought the pressure was overwhelming before the other newsboys had decided he was welcome in their Lodging House, but this was even worse. Eventually, Crutchie spoke, his voice soft. "I don't trust you, Crow. I don't think I can after… after everything." Crow glanced down at the ground. He had hoped… But, no, he should have known that he was too far gone, that he was past saving. "But," Crutchie continued, the word jerking Crow's eyes back up, "that don't mean that you don't deserve a chance to prove yourself."

"Really?" Crow breathed in disbelief.

"I can't promise I'll ever completely trust you, but that shouldn't keep you out on the streets," Crutchie said, dragging his crutch in the dirt in some anxious design. "However, don't you dare try to betray us ever again," the crippled boy warned, his eyes stern. "People don't get third chances."

"I swear I won't," Crow said, his eyes gleaming with the prospect of a family. He knew it wouldn't happen immediately and it probably would never happen with Crutchie—he suspected that he had already burned that bridge beyond repair—but he could maybe have a place now. "I get why you was so anxious to keep me from telling Snyder 'bout these guys. It's a good group you'se got."

"It's a good _family_ we'se got," Crutchie corrected.

The use of "we'se" did not escape Crow's attention.

With a soft smile, Crutchie spat in his hand before extending it. Crow followed suit and the two boys shook on it. "Thank you," Crow said, the words soft and meek.

Crutchie led Crow into the Lodging House, where he was greeted by smiles of various lengths from all the Manhattan newsboys. "Crow is now officially our newest member," Crutchie announced. Crow shook his head, drawing Crutchie's surprised attention back to him. "What? Don't you want—" Crutchie began, but Crow interrupted.

"It's Mikey. Call me Mikey."

* * *

 **Well, I hope y'all enjoyed it! This was a fun little story for me. But, what this really means is that I need to go finish writing Riding Palominos... And I have discovered that I am not allowed to have two chapter-length stories going at the same time. Too much stress... Anyway, reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome! Have a fantabulous week!**


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